


What More Can I Do, Except Keep on Loving You?

by Love2Slash



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love2Slash/pseuds/Love2Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Ross has recently regained consciousness after suffering a brain injury caused by a ruptured AVM.  As he slowly begins to recover, both he and Harvey struggle to come to terms with their new situation.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="/works/825918">What More Can I Say, Except I'm Sorry?</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Harvey arrives at the hospital, one of the nurses, the friendly, middle-aged one with a lined but kindly face and fluffy blonde hair, waves him over. 

"He's not very well this afternoon," she advises. "He's had two seizures, one in the night and another one this morning. They've left him feeling pretty rung out."

Feeling worried now, Harvey slips into Mike's room, quietly pulling the door shut behind him. Mike's lying on his side and there's a curved disposable basin on the bed within easy reach, which Harvey can't help being pleased to note is currently empty. Mike's eyes are closed, but when he hears someone pulling a chair up to the bed beside him, he opens them.

"Harvey," he whispers, and the slight curves at the corners of his mouth are enough to make Harvey grin back, despite his concern.

"Hi, kid," he says, deliberately keeping his voice low and soft. "How's things? The nurse, Andrea I think her name is, the blonde one? She said you've been having a bit of a rough time."

"Yeah," Mike replies with a sigh. "Wish the new … new … " He stops, frowns and looks up, his eyes seeming to scan the ceiling as his mind gropes ineffectively for the word he's looking for. 

"Medication?" Harvey suggests after a lengthy pause. They've told him not to rush to supply Mike with any of the vocabulary he struggles with, to allow him the chance to produce the words on his own, but Harvey's already counted to ten in his head and the kid is still floundering.

"Yeah," Mike agrees with a grateful little nod. "Wish it'd – would … you know?"

Expressive aphasia – the loss of some or all of a patient's ability to produce language – is one of the side effects that Harvey finds the most distressing about Mike's early post-operative recovery period, even more so than the actual seizures he's been suffering from, and they've been bad enough. He'd only ever witnessed one other person in the throes of a full-blown tonic-clonic seizure before, a client of Louis's who had keeled over during a meeting and bitten his own tongue so severely that he'd left a pool of blood on the floor. Even without the blood, it would have been traumatic, and seeing it happen repeatedly to Mike was something Harvey was having great difficulty getting used to. The aphasia though, seeing Mike struggling to think of even the simplest of terms when he'd previously been so fluent and articulate – well, it felt like a new wound opening up in Harvey's chest each and every time it happened.

"It's probably going to happen a lot, I'm afraid, especially to begin with," Dr. Sonnenfeld, the quietly spoken surgeon who had operated on Mike, had told him. "It's unusual with damage to the right hemisphere, but it seems that the part of Mike's brain which controls the production of language is the most likely to be affected." She'd gone on to explain that the preliminary tests showed that Mike's receptive ability, the ability to comprehend language, didn't seem to have been affected to any great degree, so whilst he generally had no problem understanding what was being said to him, a lot of the time he was now struggling to respond using words of his own. "For a high-functioning individual like Mike, this is going to be the source of a great deal of frustration," she'd said. "I take it you did read through all the literature we gave you?"

Harvey had nodded, remembering how he'd fallen to his knees and thrown up in his bathroom after reading all the leaflets she'd given him when Mike had first been admitted, about the possible consequences of an AVM rupture in the brain. "Uh, yeah," he'd confirmed, not trusting himself to say much more at that stage.

"Then you know his recovery is likely to be a long, slow process," she'd told him. "Sometimes, the brain recovers quickly from trauma, or it learns to compensate, but sometimes, well, sometimes it simply doesn't. Each patient's journey to recovery is unique, and we have no way of knowing how long it will take in Mike's case, or even how much of his previous brain function will return. You understand what I'm saying?"

Harvey had nodded dully. He'd known exactly what she'd been saying: that they had no real idea of how much of the old Mike might return or when.

"So all we can really do at the moment is wait," he'd said.

"Well, that's not entirely true," she'd replied. "Once we've had the chance to perform a complete neuropsychological evaluation, and Mike's had time to recover from the actual operation itself, of course, there are various treatments and therapies which can help move things along, but yes, you're right in thinking that time has more than a major role to play in the healing process."

"And how long will it all take?" Harvey had wanted to know. "The evaluation part of it, I mean?"

"Probably several weeks."

For Harvey, who was used to the slick world of corporate law, where the world spun on its axis at breakneck speed, the prospect of waiting was a frustrating concept to say the least. The _two steps forward, one step back_ rule mostly seemed to apply in this situation, although already it seemed it was more like one step forward and two back instead, and the jubilation he'd felt when Mike had finally regained consciousness after his surgery had quickly been replaced by the daily fear and worry as each new test seemed to reveal a fresh problem. Some days when he arrived at the hospital, it was to find Mike propped up in bed, eagerly awaiting his visit, but on others, the hours ticked slowly by as often Mike lay silent and virtually comatose, his veins full of some drug or other as the doctors fought to control his almost daily seizures. 

"It's normal during this kind of recovery," Doctor Sonnenfeld had explained in her reassuring voice, after Mike had initially failed to recall a range of basic information which he'd given easily only days previously, including his own birth date and parents' names. "His brain has suffered a serious injury and it needs time to repair and reorganize itself, but he's recognizing people, you, his colleagues who've been to visit. He knows who he is. He can communicate, albeit with a limited vocabulary at the moment. I promise you, Mr. Specter, considering what he's been through, Mike is doing really well."

Now, after almost a month of tests and drugs and above all, seemingly endless days at Mike's bedside and broken nights of worry for himself, Harvey sits in Mike's hospital room, gently holding his hand.

"I'm sure they'll sort your meds out soon," he says. "You must be so pissed with all this stuff."

Mike sighs. "Yeah," he says. "But … better now."

"Good," Harvey says. "Did you manage to eat anything at lunch?"

Mike shakes his head. "This," he says, indicating the basin, and then, "and this," pointing to the intravenous drip port taped to the back of his hand. He gives a little shrug, to show Harvey he wants to say more but he can't.

"Liquid lunch, then?" Harvey asks, winking at him. "Could do with some of that myself!" He's trying to make light of things, although it's difficult to strike the right balance at times. He's slowly getting used to Mike's disjointed speech patterns, but he's always conscious of the fact that he might overload him if he asks him too many questions, one after the other. For this reason, he's continued with a habit he'd begun while Mike was still in his post-operative coma, that of reading to him, either from novels or from sections of the newspaper. 

It's the New York Times he pulls out now, and he flicks to the sports section, reading out the reports on the previous night's ball games. Mike listens, mainly with his eyes closed, but when he eventually tries to chip in with a comment of his own about one of the games, he falters before his sentence tails off, and then a sudden anger darkens his face. He wants so desperately to talk, to make himself understood, but his brain just hurts too much. Certainly, it's not the kind of pain he vaguely remembers from _before_ , not the unbearable, crushing ice and fire grip on his skull, but the pain of frustration, of groping endlessly through the fog for memories of words which once were there, but now are always, always just out of reach.

"It's okay, Mike," Harvey starts to tell him, seeing the now familiar anger boiling up within him, but Mike immediately shakes his head. 

"Fuck!" he spits, his face screwed up, his body rigid, fists clenched and beating against his knees. 

"Well, you can certainly curse just fine," Harvey remarks, half-joking, and standing up, he presses a reassuring hand to Mike's cheek. "Hey, Mike, calm down, buddy, okay? Come on, it's fine."

"F-fine for – for you," Mike snaps, trying his best to jerk his face away. "You're not … uh, not … ahh ... fuck, fuck, fuck!"

These kinds of frustrated outbursts are not uncommon these days, but Harvey merely pulls Mike closer, ignoring all of the younger man's weak attempts to push him away. 

"Calm down," he says sternly, and with Harvey's strong arms around him, and after a few deep breaths through his nose, Mike gradually starts to relax against him, allowing Harvey's soothing fingers to gently stroke his neck. He gives a little moan, pressing himself closer. "It's okay, Mike," Harvey whispers. "It's all gonna be okay." 

There's a knock at the door just then, startling them both, and they pull apart as it opens before Rachel Zane, looking somewhat embarrassed, pokes her head into the room. 

"Am I okay to come in?" she asks, obviously feeling the tension in the room, although Harvey immediately beckons her in with his hand. 

"Sure," he says after clearing his throat. "I was, er, I was just going to run out to get some coffee. You want one?"

"That'd be nice," she says. "Thank you." Tucking her hair behind her ear as she steps up to the bed, she leans forward and kisses Mike on the cheek. "Hi, Mike," she says. "How are you?"

"Being a total pain in the ass," Harvey says shortly, and Rachel glances sharply at him over her shoulder although she then misses his wink at Mike as she turns back. "Try to keep things nice and quiet in here, okay?" he advises. "He's having a bit of a rough day today."

"Is he always like that with you?" she asks when Harvey's gone. "He doesn't cut you much slack, does he?"

"He's just – he's k – kidding," Mike forces out. "No one … " He wants to communicate to her how patient Harvey is, how tolerant and attentive, even when he really is being a pain in the ass, how no one has ever made him feel as wanted and loved as Harvey does, but he can't find the words to say so, and so he just shrugs. "Harvey's good," he simply says at last. 

Rachel does her best, telling him about her trip to the ballet a couple of nights ago, and Louis's latest outrageous rant at the associates, but there are long silences when she doesn't really know what to say, and so she's actually glad when Harvey comes back with the coffees. He asks her how things are at the office, although he deliberately keeps the topics light, for he can see from Mike's eyes that he's following every word and longing to contribute. Eventually, she pulls from her bag yet another batch of get well cards, and Mike leans back, somewhat disinterested now, as she reads the messages aloud.

Later, when Rachel has gone and Mike's eating, and hoping to keep down, his evening meal, Dr. Sonnenfeld comes by and asks to speak privately with Harvey. 

"We've had Mike's latest scans and tests scores back," she tells him after she's ushered him into her office and he's seated on the other side of her desk.

"And?"

"The good news is that the site from which we removed the nidus, the abnormal tangle of blood vessels in Mike's brain, is healing well. There's been no evidence of any further bleeding and any post-operative inflammation also seems to have reduced quite dramatically." 

"Which is great," Harvey says, "so why do I sense there's a 'but' coming?" 

The doctor nods sympathetically, and Harvey's hands, folded in his lap, automatically tighten together, their knuckles whitening.

"Our full neuro-psychological evaluation of Mike's current condition is virtually complete," she continues, "and the damage he's suffered, specifically to his right frontal lobe, has been officially classified as moderate to severe." 

There's a pause as the doctor allows the information to sink in. 

"What this means is that Mike is going to see a significant reduction in certain functions and skills, with his ability to produce language being the main complication, as you know. In most people, language is governed by the left frontal lobe, but we found a number of other, shall we say _unusual_ features, in the structure of Mike's brain, as well as the presence of the well-developed nidus, so it makes it even more difficult to predict how he's going to be affected long term. It's possible though, judging by his test scores, that he might well face long term difficulties with problem solving, decision making and short term memory skills. But look, it's not all bad news, Mr. Specter. As I've told you before, in some ways Mike has been very lucky. The parts of his brain responsible for personality, intelligence, emotional and sexual behaviors, they've all largely been left unaffected, and that's a real blessing. It means he's essentially still _Mike._ "

She smiles at him sympathetically, seeing it's all a bit too much.

"Look," she says. "I know it's a lot to take in, and I know the seizures are still very much an issue at the moment, but what's important to remember is that although some of the frontal lobe damage Mike has suffered may well turn out to be permanent, if he quickly enters one of the excellent treatment and rehabilitation programs available, it could enable him to regain at least some degree of his prior functioning, if not all."

Harvey listens quietly as she then goes through a range options with him. She turns her computer screen around and shows him various facilities, all of which seem like wonderful places, dedicated to helping their patients recover from different types of traumatic brain injuries, and she prints out some of the details for him to take away and study at his own leisure. Throughout this whole time, however, his mind keeps returning again and again to that one phrase she'd used.

Some degree of prior functioning. 

_Some._

Later, he leans against the wall outside Mike's room, hands in his pockets and the print-outs on the floor by his feet, clenching his jaw as various images begin crowding his mind: Mike, a yellow highlighter cap between his teeth and a stack of papers beside him as he sits on Harvey's office couch, his eyes quickly scanning page after page as he whizzes through his work; Mike, his palm held up, eyes bright with triumph, trying to persuade Harvey to high-five him after his quick-thinking and incredible memory had discovered some seemingly impossible solution to one of their client's problems; Mike, naked, lying back on his bed, red lips pouting, knees parted invitingly, willing Harvey to put down whatever he was working on and come and make love to him instead.

So much he'd taken for granted.

"Oh, Mike," he groans, and he sinks down to the floor, burying his face in his arms.

Later, after folding the printed pieces of paper and carefully tucking them away in his pocket, he puts on a cheery grin as he enters Mike's room. 

Harvey tells him some of things Dr. Sonnenfeld had said, not everything of course, but certainly about the rehabilitation programs, and he's glad when Mike seems keen on the idea, and then they play a card game for a while, one the therapy unit doctors had recommended, requiring the pairing of picture cards, to practice visual recognition and strengthen short term memory skills. Harvey worries at first if Mike will find the game demeaning and childish, but the hospital staff have clearly impressed upon him the value of taking part in such activities, and to be fair, he does seem to quite enjoy it. He tires quickly though, and so they watch TV for a while, at least until Mike's head begins to nod.

When he's sure Mike's peacefully sleeping, Harvey leans over, kisses him lightly, then heads off into town to meet Jessica for dinner as arranged.

"I know, I know," he says by way of apology for his lateness as he slides into his seat opposite her. "I tried my best, but you know, first there was this, then there was that."

"It's fine," Jessica says, arching one eyebrow cynically, although she smiles at him as she flicks out her napkin and lays it over her lap. "Though I took the liberty of ordering on your behalf," she adds with a smile. "I hope you don't mind."

Harvey, who's too exhausted to care, just nods his head, and when the food arrives minutes later, and despite the fact that he hadn't been feeling particularly hungry, he devours his porterhouse steak quickly, only pausing briefly mid-way through his meal to ask the waiter for extra potatoes.

"It's good to see you eat," Jessica remarks, as he polishes off every last morsel. "You've been skipping too many meals lately, by the look of you. You're wasting away."

He looks up from his plate to see her eyes scrutinizing him and he shakes his head. "Mom, I'm fine," he jokes. "Really," he adds, as she raises her eyebrows. She says nothing in reply, but he knows her well enough to realize that this is her invitation to talk. "Okay, so not _fine_ as such," he confesses. "But Mike's slowly getting better, so …" 

"So he's making good progress, then?"

Harvey hesitates. "It's early days," he says carefully, aware that he's using some of the same phrases the doctors had initially used with him, "but there's been some encouraging progress, yes."

"Harvey."

He looks away as her dark eyes bore into him.

"It's me you're talking to," she says, leaning forward and resting her chin on her laced fingers. "You don't have to pretend."

He sighs before meeting her eyes again. "It's hard," he confesses, shaking his head. He can feel the sharpness of tears pricking at the backs of his eyes, and he blinks in an effort to ignore them. "I want to help him … so much, but – but there's nothing I can do except be there, and most of the time he's asleep, or he's drugged up on medication. And when he is awake, it's such a struggle for him all the time."

After a pause, Jessica prompts, "A struggle in what way?" and again Harvey sighs. "The worst thing is that he still can't recognize any written words at all, or write them," he says, "and he can barely even get his words out properly to speak a lot of the time. Can you imagine how frustrating that must be? For someone like Mike to be unable to communicate with the people around him?"

Jessica shakes her head sympathetically. "Are they going to be able to do anything for him?" she asks, and Harvey nods.

"Yeah," he confirms. "Well, hopefully anyway. His surgeon, Dr. Sonnenfeld, she thinks the best way to maximize his recovery is to enter him into a brain trauma recovery program either at Mount Sinai or maybe at this place she recommended in White Plains. She says that they'll be able to offer him individually tailored treatment that can really help, like apparently they can kind of stimulate different parts of the brain to reassign certain functions, like reading. He's got a really good chance of something like that working, she said, because of him being so smart before - well, you know, before it happened."

"That's good, Harvey," Jessica says warmly. 

"Yeah," he agrees. "It is." He takes a sip of his wine, and then a much larger mouthful which he swallows down quickly. "Only … "

"Only what?"

He looks down and sighs again before turning back to face her.

"It's the seizures." He shakes his head. "He's been having one, sometimes two a day. I feel so helpless when it's happening. They're – well, they're really distressing. The doctors are trying to get the meds sorted out but it's pretty much trial and error at the moment. Some lessen the number seizures but make him really sick, some just knock him out, and some, well, some just don't work at all. Seeing him go through that … I – I really don't know how much more of it I can take, to be honest. It hurts me so much to see him like that. I can't even sleep for dreaming about it. You have absolutely no idea."

His voice cracks and as his gaze again falls, she reaches across the table, closing sympathetic hands warmly over his.

"That's the first time I've heard you mention yourself all night," she points out softly. "You know, you've been talking about Mike solidly since you got here, but you only just this minute got around to talking about the effect all of this is having on you."

Harvey says nothing at this but continues to stare morosely down at the table, his hand still beneath the warmth of Jessica's fingers.

"You know, Harvey," she says carefully after a long pause, "no-one could blame you if you decided to walk away from this mess. It's not too late."

There's a stony silence and then Harvey looks up, his eyes narrowing. "What?" he says, as he carefully extracts his hand from beneath hers. 

"It's not too late," she repeats. "Mike's medical bills will continue to be taken care of by the firm, of course they will, but there's no need for you to throw yourself under the bus into the bargain."

"What the hell are you saying?" Harvey grinds out through gritted teeth. "That I should leave him? Leave Mike?"

"Yes, Harvey, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Harvey shakes his head . "And I thought you understood," he says coldly. "You know, I really believed you had my back on this."

"Harvey, I do," she tells him, "which is exactly why I'm saying this to you when no-one else will. You're not married to Mike, you weren't even committed to any kind of long term relationship with him before this happened as far as I know. What's happened to him is tragic, Harvey, but it needn't to be your tragedy too."

"You've absolutely no idea what the fuck you're talking about," Harvey growls with a warning glare, but Jessica persists.

"Don't I?" she questions. "I know you think you're in love with him, Harvey, but isn't it mainly guilt that you're feeling? Donna told me how he discharged himself from hospital the day before his collapse. I know you blame yourself for that."

"You don't know jack shit," Harvey replies through gritted teeth, and he stands up abruptly, throwing his napkin into the middle of the table as he does so and almost knocking over his wine glass. "And I'd prefer it if you keep your so-called advice to yourself in future. Thanks for the dinner, but I certainly won't be staying for dessert."

He swiftly leaves the restaurant without a backward glance, and he stalks out into the cold night air of the street. It's starting to rain a little, a light drizzle, and at first he just stands there, face tipped up, enjoying the cooling sensation of the drops of rain on his face, but then he steps up to the curb, arm out for a taxi. He gives his destination to the driver then sits there, seething, his fists clenched and jaw set. By the end of his ride though, he's calm enough to acknowledge that Jessica, despite being wrong, so wrong, to say most of those things, had been right about one of them: his guilt. Sometimes it threatens to overwhelm him, and despite the protestations of the E.R. doctor who'd originally treated Mike, who'd told Harvey that he couldn't possibly blame himself for what had happened, he knew that deep down inside he always would. He also knows, though, that it isn't just the guilt that's making him stay with Mike.

He reaches the hospital just after ten thirty, and if the nurses are surprised to see him back at that time, they don't show it and neither do they try to turn him away.

"He's probably asleep again now though," is all Carlotta, a chunky, dark-haired nurse calls out to him as he slips quietly past the nurses' station., "although I've not long since woken him up to give him his medication."

However, when Harvey enters Mike's room, it's to find he's still awake.

"Hey," he whispers softly as Mike turns his head to the door, and he's gratified when at once the younger man's face breaks into a broad and welcoming smile.

"Harvey," he says, and Harvey's not sure if it's his imagination or not, but he thinks it's the first time he's heard any real warmth in Mike's voice since before he was rushed into hospital on that fateful day.

"Yeah, I know it's late, kid," he says, returning the happy smile as he pulls up a chair, "but I was kind of missing you tonight, and so I thought I'd come see you now, rather than wait until tomorrow. Hope that's okay?"

Mike nods, still smiling. The way his face lights up makes Harvey want to bend down and kiss him full on the mouth, which in turn makes him want to break down and cry. 

"I'll still be here when you wake up," he promises. He takes Mike's hand in his and brings it to his lips and he watches him for a while until Mike's eyes begin to droop, and then he smiles as he nods to him that's it's fine for him to go to sleep. "I love you, Mike," he whispers. "You know that, right?" and although there's no reply now from Mike except his quiet, steady breathing, Harvey hopes that his answer would have been a resounding yes.

The next time Carlotta comes in to check on Mike almost an hour later, she finds Harvey with his shoes off, curled up, asleep on the bed, and Mike, snoring softly in his arms, his head leaning heavily against Harvey's chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike is ready to leave hospital and move on to a rehabilitation center for the next stage of his recovery. Meanwhile, Harvey returns to work.

"Quit complaining," Harvey tells Mike, as he again places a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Just let them do their job." 

"Can walk," Mike says indignantly. "Can walk … j-just f-fine."

"You know how it works, Mike," Harvey says patiently. "If anything happens to you between leaving here and getting to the rehab center, they know damn well we'll sue them for every last cent, so just sit still and enjoy the ride."

Mike, however, is having none of it, but as he attempts yet again to escape from the confines of his wheelchair, the orderly charged with the thankless task of trying to escort him to the waiting ambulance moves aside as Harvey takes the handles before leaning down to whisper something into Mike's ear, and then Mike slumps back defeated, meekly allowing himself to be wheeled out the rest of the way.

"What did you say to him?" Donna asks curiously.

"I threatened to give his new cell phone number to a certain someone," Harvey says. "Told him to imagine what it would be like to have Louis video call him every night instead of me."

Donna laughs as Mike rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and then, when he's finally allowed to stand, she pulls him into an embrace and he hugs her back, although his eyes never leave Harvey's face over her shoulder. She wishes him luck, kisses his cheek, then steps aside, looking away to give them a moment of privacy as Harvey kisses him and hugs him tight.

"I'll see you next Sunday," he whispers into Mike's ear, "and I'll call you tonight at seven like we said, okay?"

There's a pause as he waits patiently while Mike searches for words. "P- promise?" he says eventually.

"I said so, didn't I? Now go on, get going. You're gonna be late."

They maintain eye contact until the second the ambulance door swings shut, and then Harvey watches as it carries Mike away from him, down the driveway and towards the main gate.

"He'll be fine," Donna tells him.

"Oh, I know that," Harvey replies as the ambulance finally disappears from view. "It's not him I'm worried about."

Although Donna laughs at this at first, she then slips her arm through his. "It's not like he's going very far," she reassures him.

"I was actually talking about you," he says, gently extricating himself from her arm as he strides towards the car. 

He is worried though, of course he is, and he knows that Donna knows, but he also knows she won't make a big deal out of it and he's grateful for that. She'd already worked out for herself what was really bothering him, and it isn't the fact that Mike was going away, although he'll miss him, of course. After all, he'd made damn sure that Mike had been fully involved in choosing a rehabilitation center for himself, although he'd actually been pleased when Mike had finally chosen Mount Sinai's own Inpatient Rehabilitation Center, which was located on Manhattan's Upper East Side and therefore very close at hand. No, what he was actually worried about was whether or not the therapy was actually going to work.

"You sure you still want to be in the city?" he'd asked, after they'd carefully weighed up all the pros and cons of the various facilities on their shortlist, and Mike had nodded firmly. It made sense, Harvey had agreed. In the event of an emergency, he could be there quickly, and although visits from home were discouraged during the week, on Sundays, friends and relatives were allowed to visit, or even to take patients out for a limited number of hours during the day.

"It's an intensive program," he'd been told by a member of the senior staff when he'd gone to make arrangements for Mike's admittance, and also to check the place out for himself, "and looking at Michael's records and the recommendations from his doctors at the hospital, he's likely to be assigned to one of the more challenging schedules."

"It's Mike," Harvey had corrected him. 

"Uh, sure. Well, it's an interdisciplinary approach, which means –"

"I know what it means," Harvey had interrupted. He'd spent hours, poring over the websites of all of the facilities on his and Mike's shortlist, making comparisons and researching the backgrounds of all the medical staff, and he'd read all the literature they'd provided from cover to cover at least twice. "You'll be providing comprehensive, patient-focused rehabilitation through an interdisciplinary approach based on communication, collaboration and cooperation. In Mike's case, you'll be integrating clinical neuropsychology, speech and language therapy and occupational therapy into an individually tailored program which will most likely see him working with your highly skilled and experienced therapists for up to five hours a day, six days a week, although that will depend, of course, upon the ongoing success of his seizure management regimen. Furthermore, he'll have access to rehabilitation nursing and a resident on-call physician 24 hours a day, seven days a week, but I get to take him out on Sundays."

"Er, yes, indeed," the man had said, with a somewhat nervous nod. "Would you like to look around now, Mr. Specter?"

It had been a very encouraging visit, and although he'd been unable to resist grilling each and every member of staff he'd met, he'd eventually left the building feeling reassured that not only would they be taking excellent care of Mike around the clock, but also if he were able to make any real progress, then surely it would happen here.

At seven, he phones Mike as arranged, using one of the pair of phones he'd bought specially so they could video call each other during the week. The call doesn't connect though, and after his second and third attempts, he phones the center, his heart thudding in his chest. Not one to panic usually, he can't seem to stop his mind cutting straight to the worst case scenario these days, but he's somewhat reassured to know that Mike has simply fallen asleep on his bed. 

"Do you want me to wake him?" the nurse on the phone asks, her hushed tone indicating to Harvey that she doesn't really think she should. "He looks so peaceful."

"No, it's okay," Harvey says, relieved. "He's definitely okay though, right?"

"Absolutely fine," she assures him, still in the same quiet voice. "He's just really tired that's all. He's met a lot of new people today so it's been quite a challenge."

"Well, be sure to tell him I called," Harvey says, "and that I'll try again tomorrow."

"Don't worry, I will," she promises.

Although he and Mike, to keep things simple, had agreed that Harvey would be the one to initiate their call at seven each night, he keeps the phone close by him just in case Mike wakes up later and decides to return the missed calls, but eventually he gives up. He's disappointed, of course, not to have talked to Mike, but also equally glad to think that he's safely resting, and so with thoughts of work making him think he really ought to get some sleep himself, he ensures his phone is correctly docked, gets into bed then switches off the lamp. Even so, it's a while before he gets to sleep. Troubled by regrets, he thinks back to the texts he and Mike used to send each other, the sarcastic banter, the movie trivia, and later, the way he'd read between the lines of Mike's longing for something more than just sex, and he thinks of his own reluctance to admit to himself that he was heading the same way. That, and the way he used to rip into Mike for adding kisses to his texts. 

In the office next morning, Monday, his first full day back in over a month, he ignores the surreptitious stares of all the people he meets on his way into the building, as well as the heavy silence in the elevator. There are probably several reasons why they're looking at him, he supposes. To begin with, according to Donna, his _affair_ with Mike, as most people seemed to want to call it, had been and still was the subject of much gossip and speculation at Pearson Hardman, and considering his position as a senior partner, he guesses he shouldn't really be that surprised. Plus he knows he doesn't look quite like his usual self. For a start, he's realized that he's lost quite a bit of weight recently, not because he got on the scales, but because each and every pair of suit pants he'd tried on that morning had felt really loose around his waist. He'd remembered once telling Mike that if could be bothered to get his suits properly tailored then he wouldn't have to wear a belt all the time, but today Harvey's actually ended up having to wear one himself. 

He also knows he looks tired, and he feels it too. Hospital visiting certainly takes its toll, and it's exhausting, even if you aren't really doing very much while you're there. Not sleeping properly doesn't exactly help either, and he knows he needs to start taking better care of himself, although he also knows it's something which is much easier said than done. 

Finally, he reaches Donna, and she welcomes him with a smile, a coffee and a wrapped breakfast sandwich, and he returns the smile gratefully as he accepts them before sitting down at his desk.

Although he appreciates the relative calm of his office, it's hard to get started at first, having been out of the game for so many long weeks, but he begins by reading some emails and then opening some files and before he knows it, it's almost lunchtime already. His cell phone is out on his desk the whole time, of course, as the rehab center staff have been given explicit instructions to call his personal number immediately if anything untoward happens, and he checks it frequently, but even so, by the end of the morning he's managed to catch up on the details of several of the firm's currently most important cases.

Jessica swings by his office just before one o'clock and offers to take him out to lunch. "To welcome you back," she says warmly, but he shakes his head. "Oh, come on, Harvey," she says, folding her arms as she mock-pouts. "How long are you going to stay mad at me? You know, I really was only thinking about what was best for you at the time."

"What's best for me is if I catch up on all this backlog of paperwork," he insists shortly, indicating the open files littering his desk. "After all, that's what you want, isn't it? Me back here working my ass off, making you lots of money. Oh, and let's not forget, you don't want me being distracted by anything too _trivial_ now, do you?"

He practically spits the last few words at her, although even as he says them he knows he's probably being unfair. After all, she's since apologized for what she'd said in the restaurant that night, and besides, how could he have expected her to know how much Mike really meant to him when, until fairly recently anyway, he hadn't even known it himself?

He's surprised when Jessica turns and leaves without saying anything more, although no sooner has she gone then Donna is up from her desk and leaning in his office doorway." 

"That was kinda harsh, Harvey," she says. "She does actually care about you, you know."

"She told me she thinks I should leave Mike," he replies huffily, without looking up from his paperwork. "That I was only staying with him out of guilt."

"I know."

He looks up then and fixes her with an accusing stare. "I know you told her," he says, "about what happened between me and Mike at the hospital the day before he collapsed in the office." 

"I told her because she asked me about it," Donna says truthfully. "She was trying to understand where your head was at, that was all, and I just wanted to help her out with that. But don't worry, she gets it now."

"And you, Donna?" he asks. "What do _you_ really think?"

"About you and Mike?"

Harvey nods, but she just rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head. "Oh, please, Harvey," she scolds. "You already know what I think, and besides, I knew you were crazy in love with him long before you even realized it yourself, so don't give me that." She winks at him then, and though he tries hard not to let it, his face breaks into a smile. 

It's a long first day back but he works until just before seven, and then he picks up his cell phone and speed dials Mike's new number. The phone's answered almost immediately when Mike's smile appears and he speaks the one word he's never once struggled with or stuttered over yet. 

"Harvey."

"Hey, Mike," Harvey replies, smiling. "How was your day?"

"Good, good," Mike says, nodding. "Hard," he adds. "Tired."

"But at least you managed to stay awake tonight," Harvey jokes and Mike rolls his eyes in apology and nods his head. 

Harvey knows he has to keep his end of the conversation up in order to keep it flowing, so he tells Mike about his day first, keeping the details fairly light, and then he helps Mike out with his part, by asking him lots of closed questions which need him only to nod or shake his head, yes or no. Of course he allows time for Mike to think of the words he needs when he tries to talk, though he's probably quicker to jump in than when he's been with him in person. As usual, he finds it quite hard a lot of the time, having to guess what Mike's thinking and feeling or what word he's trying to think of. Apart from the fact that he misses the witty chitchat that used to flow back and forth between them, it's frustrating, and he completely understands why Mike gets so angry when he can't find the right words. Nevertheless, this kind of face-to-face call is the easiest way for them to keep in touch, especially since Mike can't read or send texts, and so it quickly becomes not only their nightly ritual, but also the highlight of each man's day.

The working week flies by more quickly than Harvey had ever thought possible, and when Sunday finally arrives, he showers before dressing in blue jeans and a black open-necked shirt, then he grabs a taxi to the center where Mike, waiting impatiently for him in the large, airy entrance hall, throws himself into Harvey's arms as soon as he arrives, almost bowling him over. 

"Harvey!" he says, clearly delighted, his face beaming. "Harvey, Harvey, Harvey."

"Anyone would think you were glad to see me," Harvey chuckles, clutching him close and kissing his hair. It's soft and smells of apple shampoo, and he briefly closes his eyes, inhaling it's clean, wholesome scent. "Let's get a good look at you," he says, holding Mike at arm's length, glad to see him looking happy and well-fed. "How are you? Good? You look good!"

"Yes, yes, good," Mike says, nodding and smiling at the same time. "Miss you."

"Yeah, me too," Harvey tells him. "Look, come on, let's go see your therapist, yeah? Dr. Williamson, isn't it? We have an appointment booked with her at twelve, and then I'm going to take you out to lunch, wherever you want, whatever you want, okay?"

Mike grins and holds up both hands as if to indicate a big juicy burger, and Harvey laughs.

"Okay, so burger joint it is then," he agrees.

He allows Mike to lead him to Dr. Williamson's office, even though he can remember the directions from his previous visit. He'd demanded to meet the physician who'd be in charge of Mike's treatment schedule at the center, and had actually been impressed by what she'd had to say. Meeting her again now, Harvey finds she's a lot prettier than he'd remembered, although her dark brown hair is down this time, draping over her shoulders in soft waves and not scraped back into the harsh bun she'd been wearing when he'd met her the last time. Her handshake is as firm as before, however, and she smiles warmly as she invites them both to sit down.

"Mike's settled into his program very well," she tells him. "Sorry to talk about you like you're not here, Mike," she says, although he shrugs to show he doesn't mind. He hasn't actually stopped smiling since Harvey arrived, she's noticed. "He's completed all of the initial assessments and has begun an intensive course of speech and language therapy."

"So how's that working out so far, in your opinion?" Harvey wants to know.

"Well," she says, "During this first week, Mike has been receiving short bursts of intense therapy for up to twenty minutes every hour throughout each day. I know it doesn't sound like very much, but we find that a 'little and often' approach generally yields the best results in the long run, and besides, each session can be pretty exhausting in itself, right Mike?"

Mike nods vigorously. "Very tired," he says, then, "Really tired," he adds with feeling.

Dr. Williamson smiles. "The therapy integrates a variety of different activities and exercises using a range of strategies, although its success does depend upon a lot of repetition and practice on the recipient's part. However, my team feel that because of Mike's extremely high level of pre-trauma functioning, together with his commitment to the program and determination to succeed, we're hoping to see some real progress in the coming weeks. I don't know if you noticed, Mr. Specter, but Mike fluently used two alternative intensifiers within seconds of each other just now. That's already a real improvement in just a few days."

Harvey smiles at Mike who grins proudly back.

"Obviously, we'll be addressing Mike's acquired dyslexia and dysgraphia in due course, as well as the expressive aphasia, but as I've said to you last time we met, we find that one step at a time is the best way to go."

"What about his seizures?" Harvey asks finally. "He's still taking all his medication okay?"

"His medication is closely monitored," the doctor assures him, "and as with all our patients, we keep a very careful record of all symptoms. Mike has what's known as a 'Seizure Diary' which is kept with his records at all times, and is completed by the staff when, and if, an incident arises. As you already know, he suffered two complex partial seizures during the week, but there's been nothing more than that while he's been here. I know his doctors at the hospital are pretty confident that this new medication is going to be the one to work for him, at least where the tonic-clonic seizures are concerned and we're hoping the same."

He shakes hands with her again when they leave, and then Mike leads Harvey up to his room, keen to show him what it's like, although Harvey recognizes it from their nightly talks. It's comfortable enough, with a big picture window and brightly colored walls, although despite the presence of a big flat screen TV and comfortable armchair, it still has the look and feel of a hospital room in many ways. 

"Harvey," Mike says, turning to him and pressing himself close. 

Harvey's arms are suddenly full of Mike's solid warmth and he closes his eyes as Mike's lips find his. It's a relatively chaste kiss to begin with – after all, it's their first real kiss in weeks, but as Harvey brings his hands up to cradle Mike's jaw, the kiss deepens, and Mike, eager and willing, presses his hips closer, his fingers trailing lower to press between Harvey's legs.

"Oh, God," Harvey groans as he pushes Mike's hand away. "Mike, we – we can't, not here." 

Mike, however, isn't to be put off and immediately tries to pull him into another kiss but Harvey, to Mike's dismay, gently pushes him away. 

"You think it's that I don't want to?" Harvey asks him, as Mike's expression falls into a sulky pout. "Mike, there's nothing would give me greater pleasure right now, but we can't, okay? Not here. It wouldn't be right, and besides, look, there's no lock on the door, and what about that?" He points to the CCTV camera high up in the corner of the room. 

"No, no," Mike says, shaking his head. "It's like, night … you know?"

Harvey does know and it's another one of the reasons why he feels Mike is completely safe here at the center. Okay, so the poor kid barely got any privacy this way, but at least by monitoring their vulnerable patients overnight, the staff were able ensure help was always at hand if needed.

"Look, come here," he says.

Mike crosses willingly back into Harvey's open arms, and Harvey pulls him close. 

"When I get you home with me," he says, "I won't be able to keep my hands off you, but for now let's take things nice and slow, okay?"

After a brief hesitation, Mike gives him a small smile and nods.

"Good boy. Now, come on. Let's get you out of here for a little while at least. Let's go eat, but for God's sake, get changed out of those things before we go." He indicates Mike's scruffy sneakers and Mike grins at him before turning to rummage in his closet for his shoes. Harvey turns to the window, looking gratefully out at the small but colorful gardens below. He's feeling a sudden need to get out of here himself. Oh, it's definitely a great place, he knows that, and it's obvious that Mike's in the right facility and already doing well, but it all suddenly feels so oppressive, as if the bright walls were merely a disguise, hiding something much darker and much more depressing.

Realizing that everything has gone quiet behind him, he turns, and his stomach drops as he sees that although Mike has pulled his sneakers off, he's now just sitting there on the chair with his right shoe in his lap. His fingers are repetitively picking at the laces and he seems to be staring into space. 

"Mike?"

When there's no response, Harvey moves closer.

"Mike, you okay?"

Still nothing. Harvey, crouching down to get a better look at Mike's face, sees that his eyes are blank and flicking sightlessly from side to side, and immediately he recognizes the signs of one of Mike's complex partial seizures. He straightens up, hands in his pockets and his jaw clenched as he anxiously waits for it to pass, for more often than not these partial seizures pass quickly, sometimes only lasting a few seconds. They tended to leave Mike feeling a little bit confused for a while, maybe a little tired, but fine, really, to continue with whatever he was doing before it happened. 

Not this time, however. 

A few seconds later, the shoe falls from Mike's grasp, hitting the floor with a hollow thud, and Mike looks up at Harvey briefly, his eyes shocked, almost as if he didn't expect to see him there, and then he lets out a cry. His neck arches as his back goes completely rigid, and his eyes roll upwards in their sockets, showing their whites. Harvey catches him as he topples, kicking the shoes and Mike's sneakers out of the way as he carefully lowers him to the floor. As the convulsions begin with Mike's limbs jerking and shaking, his lips and skin take on a bluish tinge as he struggles for breath. Harvey knows what he needs to do, and he drags the comforter from the bed to cushion Mike's head, and then he makes sure his airway is clear and that there's nothing near him which could cause him an injury. The only other thing he can do, apart wait for the seizure to pass, is summon medical help, which he now does so by pulling the red alert cord on the wall.

Two members of the nursing staff arrive with impressive speed, although by then, Mike's convulsive jerks and twitches are already becoming more intermittent. Eventually, he groans loudly as his whole body goes limp and then, as usual, as his tired muscles relax completely, a warm wet stain begins to spread its way slowly down one leg of his pants.

"Mike, can you hear me?" the male nurse, a burly man with short ginger hair, questions softly, his fingers gently holding Mike's jaw as he wipes away the frothy, slightly blood-stained drool from his mouth and chin. 

Mike groans, trying to turn his face away. "No," he mumbles, trying to push him away.

"I know, Mike, I know," the nurse says soothingly. "It's not nice, but we're gonna have to get you up and out of these things and then you can have a sleep, okay?" 

"Sir," the other nurse says to Harvey, and he tears his eyes away from Mike to look at her questioningly. "Would you like to go and wait outside while we make him more comfortable?"

Torn between wanting to stay and help, and a desperate need for some air to clear his head, Harvey nods his agreement, and then stepping outside, he wanders dazedly down to the water station at the far end of the hallway, pouring himself a drink into a paper cone and leaning back against the wall as he sips it slowly. 

By the time he's called back into the room, Mike's lying on his side on the bed, eyes closed, asleep with the comforter wrapped around him. Although the blue tinge has thankfully faded from his skin, he's deathly pale, and there are dark, bruise-like smudges under his eyes. His lips, blood-red against the porcelain whiteness of skin, look swollen, as if they've been bitten, which of course Harvey realizes is probably exactly what's happened.

"Is he okay?" he asks. His voice is unsteady, even to his own ears, and he dislikes the sound of it intensely.

"He'll be fine," the male nurse, James, according to the name tag on his tunic, assures him, "but in any case, the on-call doc will be along in a short while to check him over. You can stay with him now though, if you like. He'll probably be asleep for quite a while."

Harvey nods his thanks, although a few moments later, it's not the duty doctor who arrives, but Dr. Williamson herself.

"I just heard what happened," she says sympathetically, "and after what we'd just been saying in my office too. I'm sorry, Mr. Specter. Mike will be so disappointed not to go out on his day trip. Such a shame. He was really looking forward to it."

She then proceeds to examine Mike, who's in such a deep sleep by now that he doesn't even flinch when she tightens a cuff around his arm to monitor his blood pressure, or even when she peels back his eyelids to shine a beam of light in his eyes.

"His reactions are all normal," she says, turning back to Harvey. "He just needs to sleep it off now."

"Yeah, I know," he replies wearily. 

After she leaves, he sits by the bed, and for a while he just feels overwhelmed by what has just happened, not only by bitter disappointment and the injustice of the timing of it, but also by the fact that he's unable to banish the images and sounds of yet another seizure from his mind. 

The hours pass by and the shadows slowly deepen as the sun slips behind the tall buildings outside, and eventually, comfortable in the padded chair, Harvey falls into a light doze himself, only waking when James comes back in later to check on Mike. He feels completely drained, emotionally rather than physically, but exhausted nevertheless, and as he sits there, waiting for Mike to come round, he can't help raking over all the things that have happened in past few weeks. The memories come thick and fast, throwing up the same old hurtful regrets, like the fact that he hadn't yet been able to apologize to Mike for walking out on him in the emergency room that day. He'd tried to bring the subject up on a couple of occasions, but both times it had been clear that Mike hadn't been ready for that conversation, and in fact barely seemed to remember what had happened at all, but it's still something that Harvey knows needs to be said.

It's a little before six when Mike finally begins to stir. He fidgets under the covers for a while, frowning and sighing, his limbs moving restlessly, and then, when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Harvey.

"Hey, buddy," Harvey says tenderly. "How are you feeling? You okay?"

Mike frowns, the confusion evident, not just in his voice, but also in his eyes. "Wh – wh'appen?" he mumbles, slurring his words.

Harvey leans forward, his hands clasped tightly between the spread of his knees. "Mike," he says with a gentle firmness. "Listen to me, okay? You had another seizure." He waits for the information to sink in, but Mike just stares at him, his frown deepening. "Do you understand what I'm saying? You had a seizure. It started out as another partial but then it went to a full blown tonic-clonic. That's why you're feeling like shit right now, but you're gonna be fine, Mike, okay? You're gonna be just fine."

As he sees the comprehension slowly dawning on Mike's face, how their longed-for Sunday lunch date has been so cruelly snatched away from them, Harvey steels himself for his reaction.

"Aw, no, no, no," Mike groans. "Harvey, no." At first, he brings his knees up and hides his face in his hands, his voice just muffled cries of anguish behind them, but then he turns to Harvey and looks up at him with anxious tears shimmering in his eyes. "We can – we can go … out, Harvey, out, out?" he pleads, but Harvey shakes his head. 

"No, Mike," he says quietly. "We're gonna have to take a rain check on that. It's too late now, and you're not well enough, but we'll go next week instead, okay? I promise."

"No," Mike cries again, shaking his head before once more burying his face, this time in the crook of his elbow. "Not … not f-f-fair," he stammers, his chest heaving. "Not fair."

Harvey feels helpless to comfort him. "I know, kid," he agrees. "But it is what it is." He tries to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Mike flings out an angry arm, almost hitting him in the face and Harvey slumps back in his seat, trying desperately to swallow down his own distress at seeing Mike so upset. He hates feeling like this, so helpless. He always knew how to fix things in the past, whether it was to do with a case, or even sorting out a bully for his kid brother, but now – now, he just doesn't know what he can do. 

He waits, watching as Mike, sobbing now, turns away from him, curling himself over in his anguish, but eventually, when he begins to quieten a little, Harvey reaches out to him with tentative fingertips.

"Hey," he says softly. "Mike," and he strokes his bare arm lightly with his thumb just below his bicep. At first he thinks Mike is bound to resist, maybe jerk away from him or even lash out again, but after a moment he turns over, revealing a puffy and tearstained face.

"S-s-sorry, Harvey," he chokes out tearfully. "I – I –I … " but then Harvey is shaking his head and rushing to scoop Mike into his arms, pulling him close, one hand on his back, the other clutching his hair and pressing Mike's face to his chest. 

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," he murmurs softly. "Mike, everything's gonna be, okay, I promise." Of course, he knows he has no right to be making such promises, not really, but as Harvey continues to stroke his back and make soothing noises in his ear, he feels Mike slowly beginning to relax against him.

Later, when it's almost time for Harvey to go, Mike, much calmer now, leans back against his stack of pillows, still looking pale and somewhat hollow-eyed, although under Harvey's watchful gaze, he's since dutifully swallowed down most of the chicken soup that was brought to him on a tray by one of the nursing staff, as well as eaten a couple of mouthfuls of toast.

"Better room service here than in a lot of hotels I've been to," Harvey remarks, which wins him a tired smile from Mike. It doesn't take long for him to fall back to sleep after that though, and after arriving home just after nine, Harvey kicks off his shoes, leaving them where they fall in the hallway. Next, he grabs a bottle of scotch from the kitchen then pours himself a large glass before dropping down onto his couch, picking up the TV remote to flick aimlessly through the channels. After a while, his cell phone begins to vibrate with an incoming call, and fearing the worst he snatches it up, his stomach plummeting, but it's only Donna, asking how things had gone on his visit with Mike. Not in the mood to talk right now, not even to her, he lets it go to voicemail. The phone then buzzes a couple of times as she sends him some texts, but he leaves it untouched beside him on the couch while he leans forward and pours himself another generous measure of scotch. He's glad of the liquor's fiery comfort in his belly as he stares blankly at the TV, and it's only when the familiar jingle of a Macdonald's ad breaks into his thoughts that he realizes he hasn't actually eaten all day. 

By the time he gets into bed, Harvey's feeling totally drained, and it doesn't help that at first he can't get to sleep either, but when he finally does, he dreams about Mike. It's not the Mike of hospitals though, with pale skin and tired smudges under his eyes, but a wholesome, healthy, excitable Mike, who confidently chatters to him, non-stop.

The next morning, when Harvey arrives at work and Donna asks him brightly, "Didn't you get my messages? How was your date with Mike?" he forces a plastic smile onto his face.

"Fine," he says, and then he sits down to work at his desk, head down, deliberately ignoring the worried looks she keeps throwing him for the rest of the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's rehabilitation isn't going as well as they'd hoped. Harvey wants to help but finds it difficult to know what to do, at least until something unexpected happens.

"You okay?" Harvey asks. Mike's been quiet during their video chat tonight, quieter than usual anyway, and it makes him feel that little bit more anxious. Mike's actually been doing better with his speech lately, becoming slightly more fluent, his available vocabulary expanding, only marginally so, but improving nevertheless, but tonight his answers are monosyllabic, his eyes heavy and dull. "You seem a bit down tonight," Harvey says.

He waits for Mike's answer, but there's just a brief, non-committal shrug. 

It's Mike's third week at the rehab center and Harvey knows he's becoming increasingly frustrated by his lack of progress, even though they'd been warned to certainly not expect any miracles. Only two days ago though, Mike's lead therapist, Dr. Williamson, had assured Harvey that she was actually pleased with the way things were going.

"It's slow," she'd admitted, "but considering the nature and severity of his brain injury, Mike is actually doing really well."

"Define _'really well'_ ," he'd challenged, forcing her to elaborate.

"Well," the doctor had said, "as you know, the aim of this kind of rehabilitation is to help the brain learn alternative ways of working in order to minimize the long-term impact of any trauma. Mike's latest MRI scan revealed that some of his undamaged brain areas associated with language-processing are showing significant signs of increased activity. It's just that for Mike, his progress doesn't seem to be moving fast enough but as we keep reminding him, it's all going to take time."

"What about reading though?" Harvey had asked her. "I know he's worried he'll never be able to properly read again."

"I know," she'd said, "but there are encouraging signs in that respect too. He's starting to learn how to decode text again, admittedly very slowly, although he's been tiring himself out, believing the longer he works at it the quicker he'll improve, but it doesn't work like that. It has to be little and often. Look, when it comes down to it, Mr. Specter, Mike has to accept that recovery is likely to be a long, slow process and will probably take months or even years rather than weeks. We think that this realization has suddenly hit home with him this last week or so, and he's having a bit of a hard time coping with it."

"Is there anything I can do to help him?" Harvey had then asked.

"Just keep supporting him," the doctor had replied. "Let him know you're on his side and that you'll be there for him when he needs you."

"I meant something practical," he'd said, but as he watches Mike on his phone now, he realizes that the doctor had been right and that what Mike needed was emotional support more than anything else.

"Mike, tell me what's wrong," Harvey now prompts gently, but Mike just shrugs his shoulders again. 

"Just a … a bad day," he says. "I – I'm okay."

He looks down, and for Harvey the physical distance between them suddenly becomes unbearable. He wants Mike in his arms, wants to cradle him, comfort him, kiss his hair, his lips, hold him close and tell him everything's okay even though it obviously isn't, and to make matters worse, he's absolutely horrified when a few seconds later a big fat tear suddenly rolls down Mike's cheek.

"What can I do, Mike?" he asks desperately. "Tell me, what do you want me to do?"

Mike heaves a breath and his face temporarily disappears from Harvey's screen while he scrubs his fingers over his eyes. "I – I want to – to be able to … _read,_ Harvey," he says, his face back in the picture, although it's unsteadily framed, as if his hand is shaking. 

Harvey swallows hard. "I know," he says, nodding. "But you will, eventually. Dr. Williamson said it's slowly coming back."

Mike laughs, a bitter sound, but his mouth isn't smiling and Harvey realizes it's a sarcastic laugh more than anything else. He watches as Mike then frowns, his lips moving soundlessly as he tries to summon up the words he wants to use. "Could you," he begins, after clearing his throat. "I mean, could you … my, uh … my … um …" 

Harvey waits. He hates this, not just because he has to watch Mike struggle, but also because he feels so woefully inadequate himself.

"I – I want to read," Mike says again. "I want my … my … "

"Books?" Harvey asks him, with sudden inspiration. 

Mike nods and lets out his breath, grateful to be understood at last. "Books," he says. "My books. Yes."

"You want me to bring you some of your books from your apartment?"

Again Mike nods. He tries to hold the phone steady as he looks into the camera. He still seems tearful though, and that, together with the request for books that he knows Mike most probably won't be able to read, almost breaks Harvey's heart.

"Any particular ones?" he asks softly.

Mike shakes his head. "Any," he says, after a long pause. "Just … just any."

He seems a little calmer after Harvey promises to bring him a bagful of his books to the center when he visits on Sunday, and they talk for a little while longer but Mike seems exhausted, and Harvey lets him go after he promises he'll go straight to bed when their call has ended. What he doesn't tell Harvey, though, and what Harvey finds out an hour later when he follows up his concerns by calling Dr. Williamson on her home phone number, is that for the last day or so, Mike has been refusing to take part in the majority of his therapy sessions, and has been opting instead to stay in his room and watch TV.

"Why didn't you tell me this was happening?" he questions, not bothering to keep the anger out of his voice. "I gave you express instructions to inform me of every development as far as Mike's treatment is concerned. You should have let me know."

"I've informed you each and every time Mike has suffered a seizure, Mr. Specter, as per your request," she assures him, "but this is something different. Mike is just going through a perfectly normal stage in his rehabilitation, that's all. You see, he's starting to make significant progress now, but for someone who was as gifted as Mike pre-trauma, everything still seems incredibly slow. He's disappointed with himself and it's clearly becoming a source of increasing frustration, but as we keep telling him, he's trying to run long before he can even walk and he's got to learn to take one step at a time."

"I'm going to come and see him," Harvey says. "Tomorrow, first thing."

"Mr. Specter, that really isn't necessary," the doctor replies in her calm, measured tone. "Our trained staff are taking care of all Mike's needs at the moment. Please don't concern yourself too much at this stage."

He wants to yell at her at this point. He wants to tell her that she has no idea what Mike's needs are as far he's concerned, but he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before ending the conversation as politely as he can. 

When he arrives at work the following morning, however, Harvey does nothing but pace up and down in his office while the coffee Donna had provided for him grows cold on his desk, and he waves his hand at her absently when she reminds him about his 'big important merger meeting' with Jessica. By the time he finally does arrive in the designated meeting room, Jessica is waiting for him, her foot tapping impatiently and her face like thunder.

"Harvey, I need your mind on your job," she tells him curtly, and for the rest of the morning, he does force himself to concentrate, but just when negotiations are reaching a critical stage, his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. Recognizing the two short, one long vibration sequence he'd allocated to Mike's new phone and the switchboard at the rehab center, as well as Dr. Williamson's cell, he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out.

"Sorry," he says, avoiding Jessica's furious glares. "I gotta take this. Harvey Specter," he then says into the phone, quickly followed by an astounded, "Sorry, what did you just say?"

He listens intently for a few seconds more, then hangs up before turning to Jessica. She doesn't look happy. Her eyebrows are raised and her mouth, its lips usually so full and rounded, is a straight, hard, angry line.

"Well?" she questions.

"I'm sorry," he says again, avoiding her gaze as he stands up and pushes his chair back. "I've got to go."

"You have to _stay_ ," Jessica hisses at him through gritted teeth. "I need you here."

"You can handle it," he tells her. "Or get Louis, or anybody else, but I really need to go. Sorry, folks, family emergency," he says to the numerous people gathered around the table, and then he hurries out, leaving Jessica clicking her tongue in consternation, although the last thing he hears as he leaves the room is the sound of her apologizing profusely to their clients. 

The first person Harvey sees as he hurries along the hallway is Donna, and she can tell immediately from his pallor and the set of his brow that something is seriously wrong.

"What is it?" she asks worriedly. "Is it Mike? Is he sick?"

"No," Harvey calls out over his shoulder as he hurries toward the elevators. "He's gone missing from the center."

"What?" she calls out, running after him. "Are you going to look for him? Do you want me to help you?"

"No," he calls back. "It's okay, Donna. I think I already know where he might be."

It's only the third time Harvey's been back to Mike's apartment in the last few months. The first time had been when he'd come searching for him the day after he'd discharged himself from hospital, and he'd discovered Mike's blood-stained suit languishing over the back of his couch and had then gone rushing into the office, too late of course, to beg for his forgiveness. The second had been when he'd come to collect clothes and other items that Mike would need at the rehab center, and on that occasion, he'd sat down on the rumpled bed for a while, horribly aware of how empty Mike's tiny apartment felt without the man himself in it to bring it to life. As he'd pulled a shirt from Mike's closet, a light blue chambray button-down that had always brought out the color of his eyes, he'd pressed it to his face, inhaling its scent, ending up standing like that for a full five minutes before finally folding it and storing it in the bag he'd brought, along with the other bits and pieces he thought Mike might need.

When Harvey opens the door this time and finally sees Mike, sitting on the floor of his apartment, barefoot and cross-legged and looking up at him in surprise from the sprawl of books all around him, the relief almost topples him and he has to hold onto the doorpost for a moment, just to maintain his balance.

"Goddammit, Mike," he scolds. "What the hell did you think you were playing at? I mean, you scared the shit out of me. Why didn't you even answer your cell phone, for Christ's sake?" He stumbles into the room and then he's bending down and hugging Mike fiercely, wrapping his arms tightly around him and pulling him close. "You've got everyone so worried about you," he tells him. "The staff at the center are going out of their minds."

Mike shrugs him off, however, his face belligerent and closed, and it's then that Harvey pulls back and looks around them and sees all the books, properly sees them for the first time. They're stacked all around him, some open, some closed, and some now in a state of disrepair, their covers torn, their ripped pages scattered over the rug, and Mike, tracking Harvey's confused eyes as he surveys the scene, tries to explain.

"I wanted my … uh, my _books,_ " he says, briefly screwing up his eyes as he stumbles over the word. "To – to see if I could … could …" 

Mike wants to explain, but the all too familiar shutters come down in his mind and the words just won't come. He wants to explain to Harvey that he so desperately hoped he'd be able to read his books, read them the way he's always read books before, quickly and effortlessly, but that what he'd found instead was that even with his own books, and even though their words were indelibly printed over the years in his mind, he's still unable to decipher their pages, still only able to string together a few letter patterns or vowel pairs here and there in the painstakingly laborious manner of a struggling first grader. 

"You wanted to see if you could read them?" Harvey supplies, and its then that the significance of the torn pages hits home with him. "But you can't."

"No, I – I can't," Mike admits, shaking his head as his eyes fill up with tears. "I don't think … I mean, I'm n – never going to – to … I – I won't … ahhh … "

His voice trails away as the words die in his throat, and then he bends forward with a deep moan as he covers his face with his hands, and it's such a heartfelt, anguished, grief-stricken cry that it claws hard and painfully at Harvey's heart.

It's a rare occurrence when Harvey Specter doesn't know what to say or do but he just stands there for the moment, frozen to the spot. He can feel Mike's pain, can see it in the way he squeezes his fingers against his eyes, can hear it in the sobs in his throat, but he feels powerless to do anything about it. It's a feeling he's not used to and one that he absolutely hates.

"Mike?" he says eventually, when Mike's finally just a silent figure hunched on the floor, and then when there's no response, a little more loudly, "Mike?"

Mike looks up at him then, and he looks so young and lost with his tear-stained face that Harvey doesn't know if he can actually take it anymore. 

"Why, Harvey?" he suddenly wails, making Harvey jump. "Why do you … I mean … why …" He huffs out a huge sigh of frustration as he wrings his hands in the air in front of him. "How can you … with me … like, like … "

Harvey frowns, still unsure of what Mike is trying to tell him, and he gives a little shake his head, and Mike, his face a twisted mask of self-loathing and disgust, lets out another anguished cry of frustration.

"How can you … want _me_?" he cries, banging his closed fist against his chest to emphasize the words as they eventually explode from his lips. "Like … like _this_?"

"Mike," Harvey begins to say, "I –"

"No!" Mike almost shouts, climbing to his feet and turning away. "Don't, Harvey. Don't." 

"Mike –"

"I don't – I don't … b – b … " He can't get the words out though, and he turns back, his fists clenched, almost spitting in his effort to make them come, but they won't, and then his face crumples with the pure relentless frustration of trying to make himself understood, and he lifts his hand, still curled it into a fist, and Harvey ducks back, thinking maybe Mike's going to swing a rage-filled punch at him, but he doesn't, because what he does instead is hit himself very hard in the mouth.

"Don't, Mike," Harvey gasps, appalled when Mike again hits himself hard, and he swoops forward and grabs both his wrists. "Stop it!" he commands, shaking him hard. "Stop that right now!"

"No!" Mike shouts, trying to wrench himself away, but Harvey holds on tightly and then he pulls Mike hard towards him and reels him snugly to his chest.

"Mike it's okay," he tells him above the noise of Mike's protesting, still holding him tightly as Mike squirms and rages in his arms. "It's okay to be mad, but don't hurt yourself like that, okay? Don't do it."

Mike tries to fight, but Harvey just holds onto him more securely. He can feel the heat of him under the thin fabric of his shirt, feel his muscles pushing against him, and then he suddenly gasps as Mike's lips find his, stubble scraping his chin, and then Mike's pressing against him, kissing him hard and pushing his tongue forcefully deep into Harvey's mouth. Taken by surprise at first, Harvey then begins to kiss him back, his hands releasing him from his tight hold, only to push up under the soft cotton of his tee-shirt, his fingers sliding up over his warm smooth skin, his touch urgent, eager, pulling him closer. He's getting hard, and he can feel Mike is too, because he can feel the younger man pushing and grinding against him, and then they're pulling apart just long enough to start tugging at each other's clothes in a frantic effort to remove the cumbersome layers and get to the hot skin beneath, and then before very long they're both tumbling naked together onto the bed.

Harvey had once told Mike, after a particularly heated night of vigorous sex, that they should both get themselves tested. "You never know," he'd growled as he'd dragged his teeth over his associate's collar bone before licking his way up over the soft stubble on his throat to his mouth, "I may want to fuck you bareback some day." What he hadn't expected was for Mike to come marching into his office less than two days later, brandishing a sheet of paper in his face.

"What's that?" he'd asked, glancing up briefly without really looking at it. "And what have I told you before about just crashing into my office like this?"

"I'm sorry, Harvey," Donna had called out breathlessly, suddenly appearing in his doorway and glaring at Mike. "Some people have a bad habit of waiting until I'm gone from my desk for like, oh, thirty seconds, before taking advantage of the fact. Mike," she'd admonished, "you know you're supposed to pass any paperwork for Harvey through to me first."

"Oh," Mike had said, half-turning, all mock-apology and with an air of blue-eyed, schoolboy innocence. "So, I'll just leave this with Donna then, shall I?" Something in the teasing tone of his voice had made Harvey look at Mike properly then, really look at him, and he'd recognized the fiery glint in his eyes, that glimmer of excitement and desire that he usually only wore when he was reclining temptingly in Harvey's bed.

"What is it?" he'd asked again, as Mike had laid the piece of paper proudly on the desk. 

"It's the confirmation you asked for," he'd said, his eyes still dancing. "About the _thing_ you discussed with me the other night."

Harvey's eyes had scanned the document then, flicking briefly up to take in Mike's flushed cheeks and bright, excited eyes, and then he'd quickly picked it up, folded it and tucked it safely in the inside pocket of his suit coat.

"Thanks," he'd said, with a hasty nod in Donna's direction to show her everything was fine, and as she'd returned to her desk, he'd nodded up at Mike. "I'll speak to you about this later in the week," he'd said.

By the time Wednesday had come around, Harvey had been in possession of his very own medically certified document, and the resultant sex that night had been mind-blowing. He'd proceeded to fuck Mike in every room of his condo, including the kitchen and all three bathrooms, and the next day, when Louis had seen Mike limping slightly after getting up out of his chair, Harvey had overheard him in the kitchen, leaning forward conspiratorially to tell the younger man in a loud whisper that he was probably using the wrong kind of saddle on his bike, and had he considered a saddle cover such as the Phenom 2000, with its patented geometric design guaranteed to assure blood flow to sensitive arteries? He'd enjoyed the grin he'd shared with Mike over Louis's shoulder, making a point of asking him the next day if his sensitive arteries were coping okay, and had he taken up Louis's advice yet, and Mike had assured him that the blood flow to his sensitive parts was just fine, but that Harvey was certainly welcome to inspect his saddle any time he chose. 

Now, as he holds Mike in his arms, it's a different sensation he's seeking. Without doubt, sex with him is just as pleasurable as it ever was, but touching Mike like this, being _inside_ Mike like this, holding him securely, skin sliding against skin with Mike's arms and legs wrapped tightly around him – God, he's missed this closeness so much. In the early stages of their sexual relationship, it had purely been about the sex for Harvey, and about what he could take for himself. He'd prided himself on how often, for how long and just how hard he could fuck his young associate, or on how easily he could get his legs to fall open with just a kiss, or by sliding his thumb over the bones at the back of the younger man's neck. And then there were the times when he enjoyed getting hard on just the little things, like how Mike would beam with pride whenever Harvey paid him any kind of compliment, no matter how big or small, or the way he would blush if he caught Harvey watching him, but somehow, somewhere along the way he'd ended up wanting to give Mike pleasure more, much more, than he'd wanted to take it away for himself. 

Mike gazes up at him now, blue eyes glazed, skin sweat-soaked, clinging on tightly as he urges him on, and Harvey kisses him deeply, thrusting in hard as he quickens his pace. He enjoys Mike's crescendo of whimpers and moans, and he pushes in hard as Mike shouts when he comes, and then Harvey himself tumbles over the edge straight after him, his face pressed to Mike's throat to muffle his cries, and all the while holding him close in his arms.

"I love you, Mike," he whispers as he pushes himself up, his breath fluttering fiercely against Mike's glowing skin, and as Mike smiles exhaustedly up at him, Harvey leans down and kisses him again, tenderly this time, leaning up on his elbow so he can stroke Mike's face at the same time. "I love you so much." 

Mike closes his eyes briefly, holding onto Harvey tightly, and the words come easily this time. "I – I love you too."

"And as for asking why I'd want to be with you, God, Mike." Harvey smiles tenderly down at him, his thumb on Mike's cheek, while Mike solemnly watches him, his eyes big and bright. "Don't you know even how amazing you are?"

Harvey kisses him again then, and then he pulls him towards his chest as he rolls onto his back and they lie quietly for a while, their limbs entangled under the sheets, warm, comfortable, satisfied and drowsy, and Harvey runs his hands lightly over Mike's smooth skin on his back and his chest, soothing away all the last remnants of tension from his body, his gentle touches doing more to soothe him than his words ever could. His muscles are softer than they used to be, less defined, the weeks of hospital treatment having taken their toll despite Mike's therapists and their attempts to get him into the rehab center's fitness suite, but he feels so good in Harvey's arms, lying against him, just so _right,_ that Harvey finds himself committing the moment to memory, never wanting to have to leave it behind. 

"You know, you don't have to go back to the center if you don't want to, Mike," he says at last, and he sits him up a little to get a better look at his face, studying his eyes searchingly. "You know that, right?"

After a brief hesitation, Mike nods before snuggling back down against Harvey's chest.

"We can sort something out," Harvey continues, his voice rumbling comfortingly against Mike's ear. "There are other places we can try if you want, day centers, places where you don't have to stay overnight, or there's plenty of people who'll make home visits. We had some on our list."

Mike thinks for a minute, trying to find the words. "I – I will go back," he says quietly. "It's – it's only … um, only … "

"I know," Harvey says, quickly jumping in. "It's only for another three weeks. But are you sure you want to though? I don't want you upset."

Mike nods again, but then Harvey, suddenly excited, is pulling him back up.

"Then after that you should come live with me," he says breathlessly, his heart hammering, although he's suddenly never been so sure of anything in his life. "Move in with me, Mike, so we can be together. Please?"

Mike stares at him, his blue eyes wide and shocked at first but then his face breaks into a smile. "Yes, yes," he says, nodding and laughing. "I – I … Harvey … yes!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mike's recovery slowly continues, he and Harvey face some very difficult times indeed.

As he sinks down into his chair, Harvey places his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands and sighs wearily. He feels completely drained, which is hardly surprising considering what's happened. It's been a hell of a day so far, and certainly nothing like he'd imagined when he'd surprised Mike with the gift of a brand new, dark blue Zegna suit the night before and told him he had an even better treat all lined up for him the following day.

"Wha – what is it?" Mike had asked, his eyes all lit up with wonder as his fingers had carefully stroked the patterned silk Armani tie Harvey had chosen for him, and which complemented the suit perfectly.

"Well, how'd you like to accompany me to the office tomorrow?" Harvey had asked him, and then he'd explained that Rachel, Mike's pretty paralegal friend, who had at last secured a place at a prestigious law school, was throwing a lunchtime leaving dinner for a few of her colleagues, and she'd asked Harvey if Mike would be able to attend. Mike had been thrilled at the invitation and, although more than a little nervous about facing everybody again, had been really looking forward to it. The following morning, he'd showered and shaved, dressed in his new suit and tie and then he'd walked out into the breakfast nook to ask Harvey how he thought he looked. Harvey had been standing behind the counter, coffee cup in hand, and as he'd looked up, his breath had temporarily caught in his throat.

"Wow," he'd murmured. "You look … stunning." 

Mike had smiled proudly, and for a moment it was like none of it had ever happened: the headaches, the rupture, the seizures – none of it at all. Mike had been standing there in front of him, looking young, perfect, handsome and whole, and Harvey had been so happy and so proud of him in that moment that if someone had asked him about it later, he'd probably have sworn that he'd actually felt his heart swell.

"Looking good, Mr. Ross," Ray had complimented Mike, grinning at him as he'd watched him climb into the rear of the car, and although when they'd arrived at the office Harvey had been reluctant to leave Mike's side, he'd allowed Donna to lead him to his own office on the pretense of some urgent case in order to let Mike do his own thing. He couldn't help worrying of course. Mike still stammered badly at times, and he frequently struggled to locate the words he needed to convey his exact meaning, but after several months of intensive speech therapy, he'd developed a number of strategies to deal with these problems. He'd certainly made a lot of progress too, and besides, he was a lot more comfortable when talking to people he knew, so when the time had come, he'd happily gone off with Rachel to the party. Harvey had noticed that her arm had been protectively linked through Mike's, and she'd winked at him reassuringly over her shoulder to let him know she'd be taking good care of her charge.

When Mike had later returned to Harvey's office, smiling happily, his eyes bright with the pleasure of telling Donna how pleased he was for Rachel and how much he believed she deserved this chance, Harvey had asked him to wait in his office while he attended a meeting with Jessica and a client. When Mike, however, feeling more relaxed and confident than he had in a long time, had asked him could he join them, or at least accompany him to the meeting room to say hello to Jessica, Harvey, against his better judgment, had said yes.

And that's when everything had started to go wrong.

They should have known. Harvey should have known, he realizes now, as he gratefully accepts the offer of a strong black coffee from Donna, because the signs had certainly been there. Mike's headache the previous night, while not a bad one and certainly not one worrying enough to merit phoning the hospital or even taking painkillers, had been a typically persistent, buzzy ache nevertheless, and that morning, when he'd been sitting on the couch in Harvey's office, tossing a baseball up into the air as he'd waited for Rachel to come take him to the dinner, he'd accidently dropped it twice, grinning apologetically when Harvey had looked up, frowning at the noise. 

Mike should have known too, but he'd ignored it because he'd been enjoying himself. The faint tingling in the tips of his fingers, however, the distortions in his vision when he'd looked into the bright lights hanging from the restaurant ceiling and seen their spiky haloes, as well as that strange metallic taste on the back of his tongue despite the deliciousness of the canapés – they'd all been signs. 

So it shouldn't really have come as much of a surprise as it did when he'd been sitting in the empty room opposite where Jessica and Harvey's meeting had been in full flow, playing a game on his phone, and then realized that he'd totally zoned out for a while. The next thing he'd known, he'd been waking up under a blanket on the couch in Harvey's office with a dry, thick, sandpaper-like tongue that had felt far too big for his mouth, as well heavy, aching limbs.

"Wha' … Donna?" he'd groaned. "What ... what happened?" He'd rubbed his hands over his face and then he tried to sit up, but Donna had gently pushed him back down.

"Whoa, whoa, not so fast there, buster," she'd told him, although she'd helped him to lean up on one elbow a few minutes later, and then she'd held a cup of cool water to his lips as he'd sipped on it gratefully. "Donna?" he'd asked. His head had been thumping and he'd felt spaced out – again typical symptoms really. "What happened?"

"Well, because you never do anything by half-measures," she'd told him, "after you'd insisted on accompanying Harvey to Jessica's office, you then burst into his meeting to demand he help you take off your clothes and then you proceeded to have a seizure in the middle of the room in full view of Jessica, her client and her client's attorney. I mean, what are you now? Mike Ross, attention whore?"

She'd winked at him and smiled as she'd said it but when he hadn't smiled back she'd realized that she'd probably been far too blunt with him and apologized. 

"I – I don't ... I mean, I don't re - remember any of that," he'd confessed, shaking his head. "I wrecked his meeting? Is Harvey … is he, is he …" He'd clicked his tongue then, annoyed that the words were lost in a particularly frustrating fog.

"Mad at you?"

Mike had nodded worriedly and Donna had shaken her head. 

"No," she'd said. "Absolutely not, but he _is_ annoyed with himself for not recognizing the signs sooner. He said he wishes he'd postponed his meeting and taken you straight home after the dinner, that's all."

"Where is he?" Mike's voice had been hopeful. Home with Harvey had sounded like the perfect place to be right then. Home with Harvey, in bed under the quilt, or maybe on the couch, all snuggled up warmly against the older man's chest.

"Look, don't worry, he'll be along in a little while," she'd told him. "He's just finishing up with Jessica." 

"Um, Donna?" Mike had then said, lifting the blanket to peer down in confusion at his bare legs.

"Yeah, about that," Donna had said. She hadn't really wanted to tell him that in the two or three hours he'd been asleep, she'd removed his suit pants, smiling to herself as she'd also removed his Star Trek boxer shorts, and not only had she had them replaced with a brand new identical pair, but she'd also had his suit expressly dry-cleaned and restored to its pre-seizure newness.

"I think somewhere in the back of your mind you probably knew that the seizure was coming," she'd told him, "and you didn't want to ruin your new suit and so maybe that's why you were so urgently trying to take your clothes off. And you were right to do it too. Wrinkled designer wear is so _not_ a good look this season, and besides, you aren't packing anything down there I haven't already seen before."

He'd smiled at her then, knowing that in all likelihood he'd have lost control of his bladder towards the end of his seizure, but seeing as Donna hadn't mentioned it, he'd been grateful not to have to talk about it either.

"Thanks, Donna," he'd said, his eyes already drooping again.

"Look, get a bit more rest for now," she'd told him, smiling kindly. "Like I said, when Harvey comes back, he'll take you home. Just go back to sleep, okay?"

Mike had nodded and, feeling reassured, had quickly gone back to sleep, and she'd stood watching over him for a while, feeling somewhat anxious about how angry Jessica had seemed about the whole thing.

"Mike Ross shouldn't even have been in the building," she'd been hissing at Harvey angrily when Donna, summoned by Harvey, had arrived in Jessica's office. "And I suppose you're going to leave me to sort out everything again, while you rush him off to the emergency room?"

"No, look, it's okay," Donna had assured Harvey as she'd finished checking Mike over. "He just needs to sleep now, right? Help me take him back to your office and then you can go back to your meeting. He can sleep it off on your couch. I can watch him for you."

Once they'd settled Mike down and Harvey had apologized for having to leave her with him, she'd sent him back to Jessica's office, telling him not to worry, and by the time Harvey had finally arrived back, Mike had still been asleep, all curled up on the couch with his back towards them and the blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

Donna watches Harvey now as he accepts the coffee gratefully, and he cradles it in hands, shaking his head at her when she asks him how the meeting went, and he leans back in his seat, again letting out a heartfelt sigh. "She said she's going to fire him," he says. "Effective immediately."

Donna, for once, is slow to catch on. "Who?" she asks, clearly confused and shaking her head, because as far as she knows, the two men she'd seen in Jessica's office were not in any way employed by the firm.

Harvey, however, glances sadly across at Mike before lifting his head and gulping back his coffee, not caring that it's still too hot and practically scalds his throat, and when he looks back her, he sees that Donna's mouth has fallen open in shock.

"She can't do that," she gasps, her tone mindfully hushed and yet filled with outrage at the same time. "He's on sick leave. Wouldn't it be classed as unfair dismissal?"

Harvey shakes his head, slowly and very deliberately. "It would be if he had the contract of a genuine Harvard graduate," he sighs," but unfortunately, as we both know, Mike's contract isn't actually worth the paper it's written on." 

"And what are you going to do about it?" she asks, although she's surprised when he just shrugs his shoulders. "You're going to fight it though?" she questions.

"What can I do, Donna?" he asks her. "I mean, she's been so good to him about all of this, and to me, giving me all this time off, and after all, the firm's medical insurance has paid for all of his treatment, even though I told her I was more than happy to pay for it myself. I can't fight her on this, Donna. I have no grounds."

Donna eyes him carefully. "You're being very calm about it," she observes.

Harvey again shrugs his shoulders. "There's no point being anything else," he replies. "How many other employers would have kept him on their payroll all this time? I mean, it's not like he's ever going to work in law again, is it?"

They continue to talk in a huddle of low whispers for a while, until eventually Mike begins to stir on the couch.

"Hey," Harvey says, crouching down beside him when Mike finally rolls over to face them. "How are you feeling? You up to making a move for home?"

Mike doesn't return Harvey's tentative smile, however, although he does nod his head.

"Look, don't worry about anything, okay?" Harvey tries to reassure him as he reaches for Mike's suit. "You couldn't help what happened, and the only people there who saw, other Jessica and me, were Clyde Atwell and that douchebag of a lawyer of his, and you don't need to worry about them, Mike. I'm sure they'd say they were glad of the interruption if they were being honest, especially the way things were going for them prior to that, and besides, they were more concerned about you than anything else."

When Mike's fully dressed and Harvey's sure he feels up to walking, they make their way slowly outside to the car where Ray is waiting patiently to take them home. Mike's really quiet on the journey, gazing out of the window as the streets pass by, all the while absent-mindedly stroking his new silk tie which he carries folded over in his hands. When they get to the condo, he quickly strips the suit off again, carefully hanging it up before dressing in jersey pajamas, and although he says he isn't hungry and just wants to sleep, Harvey makes him a sandwich and insists he eats at least half of it. Mike complains that the salted beef tastes just like sawdust though and then, after pushing the plate away, he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth before going straight to bed without even saying good night.

Now lying beside Mike as he sleeps, his hands laced behind his head, Harvey mulls over all of the day's difficult events. Although he understands it, Jessica's decision is hard to take, because lately, things have actually been steadily improving for them both. After Mike had finished his six week residential course at the rehab center, he'd started attending daily sessions as an out-patient, and had actually been enjoying himself for a change. As well as continuing with the speech and language therapy, he'd been taking full advantage of all the facilities the day center had to offer, and after trying out a range of different sports and hobbies, he'd taken classes in badminton and photography, pastimes he could enjoy without having to fumble for the right words all the time. Even so, his speech was definitely more fluent and improving all the time, although they'd been warned that he would most likely always speak in the same slow, hesitant way and he would probably always suffer from a slight stammer, no matter how quickly he managed to think of the words he wanted to say. And sure, he had his off days, especially when he'd suffered a seizure like today and it maybe took him a day or so to recover his energy levels, but on the whole he was able to communicate his thoughts and ideas well enough. His reading was improving too, especially since he'd mastered a range of different apps and programs on his iPad, using them to highlight words he was having difficulties with and then having them read back to him by the program. He worked hard at it, despite Dr. Williamson's advice about still taking things slowly, and sometimes Harvey would come home from work to find him curled up on the couch asleep with his iPad close by and a stack of reading and writing homework books piled high beside him. 

In the light of the today's events though, Harvey feels a crushing sense of guilt, for he knows that deep down, Mike had still been harboring the hopeful belief that one day he'd be back working with Harvey again, the two of them side by side, and he now regrets any encouragement he's ever given him in letting him believe that this was at all likely to happen. In spite of it all though, he knows that Jessica is right to let him go, because although Mike's recovery has been steady over the months, and the specialists have assured them that with continued support, he'll most likely become a very able functional reader, it's becoming increasingly clear that he's unlikely to ever reach the levels of his pre-trauma abilities again, or anything like them. Being able to read street signs or menus or even fill out forms was all well and good, but it wasn't going to enable Mike to work in a busy law office, where both speed and accuracy were of equal importance. And as Jessica had said after Atwell and his attorney had left: "Harvey, even the weakest candidates who don't even make Sheila Zasz's _'possibly but probably not'_ pile can read and write with ease. I'm sorry for him, I genuinely am," she'd added as he'd opened his mouth to protest, "but you know we can't prolong this charade any longer. I'm letting him go, and that's my last word on the matter."

It takes a long time for Harvey to finally fall asleep and even when he does, he's restless and uncomfortable but when he wakes and it's after nine, he puts on his dressing gown and heads out to the kitchen where he prepares a breakfast tray of bacon and poached eggs, with pancakes, syrup and orange juice.

"Why haven't you gone to – to work?" Mike asks him sleepily, rolling over when Harvey brings in the loaded breakfast tray and sets it carefully down on the bed.

"Well, good morning to you too," Harvey jokes, feigning a cheeriness he doesn't really feel as he turns to open the drapes. He turns back to Mike but his smile is met with a frown. "I phoned in to the center for you and told them you weren't up to coming in today, and they said that was fine, and I already asked Donna to clear my schedule, so I thought we could enjoy a duvet day together.

"No, no," Mike says, pushing himself up as he extends his frown to the tray's contents, which also includes his morning dose of medication in a little paper cup. "You should go … to work. You're a – a big … " He thinks hard. "Important," he says after a pause. "You're important. You – you have an important case."

"Like you're not important?" Harvey replies. "And anyway, I got a text from Jessica late last night. Atwell finally agreed to drop the suit so there's no case to answer now anyway." 

Mike shakes his head. "So?" he mumbles, shaking his head as Harvey offers him a glass of juice.

"So," Harvey says, after replacing the glass on the tray and then turning back to give Mike a hard look, "it means my schedule's clear for the next day or so, so I get to spend some time with you. That's okay, isn't it?"

When Mike says nothing in reply, Harvey picks up the tray and moves it onto the night stand and then he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Come on, what is it? You can tell me. I mean, if you're still worrying about what those people at the office saw yesterday, I swear to you, Mike, they – "

He stops when Mike quickly shakes his head.

"Well, what is it then?"

There's a prolonged silence, and Harvey waits as Mike goes through the process of locating and selecting the words he wants to use. "I heard you," he says eventually, his gaze suddenly direct and very intense. 

"Heard me what?" Harvey asks, although he's finding it hard to look Mike in the eye because it's suddenly so, so obvious from his hurt expression what he's going to say, but he forces himself to watch as Mike's face contorts with the effort of forcing his words out. 

"What you said … to Donna," he says accusingly. "About me." His lips are trembling and he's barely holding back the tears now, but for a while Harvey genuinely just doesn't know what to say. 

"I thought you were asleep," he eventually admits. "And I wasn't going to tell you, not yet anyway. Look, I'm sorry, Mike, truly I am. I would never have wanted you to hear it like that. It's just that Jessica –" 

"I don't care," Mike interrupts him with sudden fierceness. "Don't care about her. It's what you said. You said … " His voice trails off and he looks at Harvey with huge, reproachful eyes. "I'm … I'm useless," he whispers.

"Mike, I never said that," Harvey protests, shaking his head. "I would never say that, I – "

"Never – never gonna work in law again, Harvey. That's what you said. You can't … you can't d – d - deny it." The tears welling in Mike's eyes finally spill down onto his cheeks, but as Harvey reaches out a hand to him, Mike slaps it away, and then he rolls over away from him, curling himself into a tight ball as he starts to sob. Harvey, beside himself with guilt, spends the next hour or so apologizing and trying comfort him, but even so, it's almost lunchtime before Mike finally stops crying.

The days that follow are strained. Mike is pale and quiet and refuses to leave the apartment, even refusing to get out of bed for the first two days. He urges Harvey to go in to the office but when Harvey refuses, Mike pointedly tells him there's no reason for them both to be out of work. It all makes for an incredibly difficult week, which unfortunately is made even worse when Harvey accompanies Mike to the neurology clinic for a routine check-up and medication review and they're given some more bad news. 

"Obviously, we'd hoped your seizures would settle down in time, Mike," the doctor tells him. "Sometimes, they do, but as you know, they're a common side-effect in people who've suffered a traumatic brain injury such as yourself."

Mike says nothing and in fact just sits and stares down at his hands which are loosely laced together in his lap.

"What are you saying?" Harvey asks the doctor, after glancing over at Mike and realizing he isn't actually going to reply.

The doctor also looks at Mike but then he smiles sympathetically at Harvey before addressing him instead. "What I'm saying is that remission becomes much less likely the longer the seizures persist." He hesitates but Mike still doesn't look up. "It's not just that," he continues. "There are other factors which also point towards a poor prognosis, including the fact that Mike suffers from a combination of complex partial and tonic-clonic seizures and that these continue to occur, on average, two to three times a week. I'm afraid all of these things together mean that we need to add a diagnosis of epilepsy to Mike's medical notes." There's a pause before the doctor addresses Mike again, unsure as to whether or not he's been listening. "It means the seizures are unlikely to ever go away now, Mike. I'm sorry."

There's a silence during which Harvey reaches across and tries to take one of Mike's hands into his own, but he stops when Mike pulls away.

"But there are other meds he can try though, right?" he says, turning back to the doctor.

The doctor shakes his head. "I wouldn't advise it at the moment. Let's stick with the current regimen for the time being, and we'll review things in another three months."

In the taxi on the way home, Mike sits silently with his head bowed, refusing to make eye contact with Harvey, and later that night, when Harvey asks him if he wants to talk about it, he just shakes his head. In fact, he pretty much refuses to talk about anything very much for the next few days, and so Harvey very guiltily feels almost relieved when he gets a call from Jessica to say he's needed at the office to sign some important documents.

"Will you be okay?" he asks Mike, who since the visit to the neurology clinic has been refusing to go to the center and instead has been installing himself each day on the sofa with a blanket and the TV remote. "It'll only be for a few hours. You've got your phone, right? You can call me if you need me."

"Just go," Mike tells him. "I'll be f-f-fine."

"Okay then," Harvey says. "Love you," he adds as he bends and kisses him quickly on the top of the head, and when he gets to the door, he looks back. "See you later," he calls, but Mike is already flipping through the channels on the TV and doesn't look round. 

Harvey hadn't ever realized that going into the office could bring him such a sense of peace, and after replying to a number of emails and signing Jessica's documents, he settles down at his desk to look over some other paperwork and make a few overdue phone calls. Forty minutes later, he stares guiltily at his wristwatch when he realizes he probably hasn't thought about Mike even once since he's been sitting there. On the way back home he worries that he's been gone too long, but in total he's only been gone four hours, and he reassures himself that surely nothing bad could have happened in that time. However, when he gets home he's in for a shock, because he can't find Mike anywhere. 

In a panic, Harvey rushes from room to room searching for him, fearing he's suffered a seizure and that he's maybe lying unconscious on the floor somewhere, or God forbid, in the tub, but all he can find is Mike's rucksack, the one he usually takes to the center with him, containing his iPad and workbooks. His cell phone's gone though, and so are his wallet and keys, and so Harvey presses Mike's number on speed dial, almost throwing his own phone across the room in frustration when Mike's cell cuts straight to the automated voicemail service. Instead, he calls downstairs, wanting to know if the doorman has seen Mike leave at all, and it's confirmed that yes, he had, not long after Harvey had left, in fact.

Harvey, running his fingers repeatedly through his hair, tries Mike's cell phone again, but he just gets the same automated message, and he's just considering his next move, wondering who to call or where to go, when he hears the front door opening, and he rushes with relief towards the hallway.

"Mike?" he calls out. 

As soon as Harvey sees him though, he can tell that there's something wrong. He's way off balance, his face is slack and his cheeks flushed as he lurches along the hallway, his fingers pressing against the wall as if he's trying to hold himself up.

"Oh God, are you okay?" he gasps, darting forward, but as he reaches out to him, Harvey suddenly realizes what the problem is. "My God, have you been drinking?" he demands, appalled. "Mike? And no," he says as Mike shakes his head. "Don't even bother with a denial. I can smell it on your breath."

"Just had a – just had the one," Mike slurs as he stumbles, waving his hand dismissively but both the action and his tone only serve to incense Harvey still further.

"You stupid idiot," he says angrily. "You know damn well you're not supposed to drink on those meds, and you've had more than a one judging by the state of you. What the hell were you even thinking?"

"I ju-just – it was just one fucking beer, Harvey." 

"Well, even if that's true, and for the record I don't believe you, why would you even do this?"

"Well, why – why not?"

"Because it's stupid and dangerous, that's why not."

"Trevor said – "

"Trevor?" Harvey interrupts sharply. "You've been with Trevor Evans? That's who you've been drinking with? Oh, well, suddenly everything is starting to make more sense."

Mike shakes his head in irritation as he stumbles, grabbing the wall to steady himself. "Fuck you," he mumbles.

Harvey is astounded and he grabs Mike's shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. "What did you just say to me? Fuck _me?_ "

Mike shakes him off. "What?" he says, glowering at him. "Yeah, so- so I – I can't have – friends now? Harvey, is – is that it? I – I … Harvey, I … " He balls his hands into fists, snarling out his anger when he can't get his words out even though there's so much he wants to say.

"I'm not saying you can't have friends," Harvey says coldly. "I'm saying you can't drink at the same time as taking your medication as you damn well know, but while we're on the subject of your choice of friends, for the love of God, Mike, _Trevor?_ I mean like, _really?_ "

Ignoring him, Mike pushes off the wall and tries to move further down the hallway but as Harvey pulls him back and he opens his mouth to protest, he quickly closes it again as he jerks to a halt before flinging out an arm to roughly push Harvey away. 

"Ah, fuck," he says, bending over. "I – I think I'm gonna … gonna puke, " and he puts a hand up to cover his mouth as he begins to retch.

"Oh, God," Harvey complains, grabbing Mike's arm much more roughly than he means to as he starts to drag him towards the bathroom. "Don't throw up here," he orders, but again the younger man pushes him away before bracing his hands against his knees, and then he's violently vomiting up the contents of his stomach all over the hallway floor.

Later, he sits in the tub, hair wet, head bowed. His jeans are soaking in kitchen sink, his soiled sneakers are in the trash and the hallway floor has been mopped and dried, and even though Mike allows Harvey to sit in the bathroom with him, he's still barely constraining his pent-up anger and resentment.

"Trevor, he said … he said he didn't even know, you know? That I'd been in - in the hospital."

"Well, why would he?" Harvey snaps as he holds up Mike's robe. He really doesn't want to be yelling at Mike like this, but he can't help it. "What sort of friend is he anyway? I'll tell you, shall I? The kind that only ever comes around when he wants something."

"Actually ... I called him," Mike says. "He said ... he said that he tried, I – I mean, he tried to speak to you." His voice has taken on an accusing tone now. "Several times. But – but you wouldn't take his calls."

"When was this?" Harvey says, but Mike just shrugs his shoulders, wrapping the robe around himself as he climbs out of the tub. 

"I don't know," he says. "But he went to my ... to my apartment, and he - he tried my old cell, and so … "

Harvey shakes his head dismissively. "Well, I don't remember," he says. "And I don't know why you're defending him anyway."

"I don't know why you're – attacking him," Mike counters. "It was my idea, anyway. The – the drink. He didn't even know I wasn't … you know, that I wasn't … supposed to. And no, before you ask, I won't - I won't do it again."

As they lie in bed that night, the atmosphere between them continues to build into an uncomfortable wall of silence, until eventually Harvey feels he has to break it.

"Look, I know it's lousy timing," he says apologetically, "and I'd really rather not, but I need to go on a trip tomorrow, to Boston. I'll only be gone one night though, if that."

"For – for work?"

"Yeah. It's that hostile takeover I was working on last week, the sportswear company one? The CEO has asked me to attend the final negotiations in person and I couldn't really say no. Look, Donna says she'll stay with you overnight if I have to stay over in Boston, okay?" 

Harvey hears Mike huff out a breath loudly. "I don't need a – a …" he starts to say.

Harvey guesses the word he's struggling to recall is _babysitter_ , but he doesn't supply it. "It's all arranged," he says firmly. 

Mike rolls away from him then. "Fine, what - whatever," he says as he punches his pillow.

"Well, like I said, I might be back, and – "

"I said it-it's fine."

In the morning, Mike wakes up with a sore head and dry mouth and although he tries to hide it as he slides into his seat at breakfast, the sight of the toast and cereal Harvey has put out for him makes his stomach turn. Nevertheless, he picks up his spoon and starts to eat. 

"You sure you feel up to going into the center today?" Harvey asks him. 

Mike nods as he spoons more cereal into his mouth. 

"Okay, so I'll get Ray to drop you off first," Harvey informs him, "then Donna will pick you up at four and she'll stay with you until I get back."

Mike thinks about arguing, but then he just nods again instead.

In the car, he stares morosely out of the window, and when he does risk a quick look at Harvey, Harvey is looking down at the day's itinerary in his hand. He looks tired and there are lines around his eyes that Mike hasn't noticed before, but when he glances up, Mike quickly looks away again.

When they get to the center, Mike mumbles something that Harvey doesn't quite catch, but he thinks sounded something like, "Have a good trip," and then he climbs out and heads towards the building with his shoulders hunched, his head down and his rucksack slung over his back. Harvey watches him, his hand up ready to wave, but when Mike gets to the door, he doesn't look back as he goes inside and lets it swing shut behind him.

It's almost midnight when Harvey finally returns home. Donna shushes him when he calls out his greeting, and he quietly puts his unused overnight bag on the floor. Mike is lying back on the couch cushions, with his bare feet dangling loosely over the arm. His cheeks are slightly flushed with sleep and his hair is messy and spiky. There's a bowl of popcorn with more than half of its contents eaten on the coffee table, as well as a few soda cans littered here and there amongst the empty pizza boxes, and if he'd been forced to, Harvey would have admitted to being extremely envious of the simple domesticity of the scene. It feels like ages since he and Mike had had a take-out and movie night, although in reality it probably isn't that long.

"He been okay?" he asks softly, and Donna nods. 

"Absolutely fine," she says. "When we got your message to say you were on the next flight home, he wanted to wait up for you but he was absolutely shattered, poor guy. He wouldn't go to bed though."

Harvey seems surprised at this piece of news, but before he can ask anything else, Donna flicks her head towards the kitchen. "Coffee?" she asks quietly, and after a lingering look at Mike, he follows her, stripping off his tie and jacket and twisting open the top two buttons of his shirt as he goes. She busies herself making coffee while he leans against the counter, watching her as she works.

"So movie night then, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah, it was fun," she says. "And yes, before you ask, he took his medication and I filled in his seizure diary. See?" She pushes the wire bound note-book towards him and he glances down at it, reading her neat script, glad to see that there's been nothing untoward to report. "You know, you could have stayed over," she tells him as she finally pushes a steaming mug of black coffee towards him and he gratefully picks it up and cradles it in his hands. "We'd have been okay."

"Yeah, I know," he replies. "I wanted to come home though."

"He'll be glad."

Harvey snorts a little before taking a sip of his coffee. "Will he?" he asks.

Donna shakes her head at him. "Harvey, of course he will." 

He watches her hopefully as she tops up her own mug with cream and adds sugar before stirring it all in and then she turns to face him. She knows him well enough to know what he wants to hear – has she managed to fix things for him, the way she usually does? 

"He's hurting, Harvey," she says, answering his question before he has a chance to ask it. "Getting fired has hit him really hard, but you already knew that. And he admits he knew it was probably coming but the reality still hurts."

"I should have talked to him about it before now," Harvey says unhappily.

"His reaction still would have been the same," she says, "and anyway, that's not even the main issue."

Harvey is surprised. "It's not?"

"No," Donna replies. She decides there's no point holding back, so she tells him straight. "I know you wanted me to talk to him," she says, "and we did talk, we talked a great deal, and the upshot of it all is that more than anything, he's afraid. Afraid that because he won't ever get to be the same Mike as before, you won't want him any more and you'll eventually leave him."

"What?" Harvey almost drops his mug and just manages to place it back on the counter without spilling any of its contents. 

Donna nods. "He thinks it's just a matter of time."

"Well, it's not gonna happen," Harvey says vehemently. "I hope you told him that."

"Of course I did," Donna assures him. "But his fear isn't going to go away just because we say so, Harvey. It's going to take time, and you're going to have to be patient while you both try to build something new together." 

Harvey nods, but then a thought strikes him suddenly. "Did he – did he mention … you know. That day?"

"No," Donna replies. "But I do think that's something you need to talk to him about sooner rather than later, Harvey, for your own good as much as anything."

She'd known immediately which day he'd been talking about, and of course, about the fact that before any of them had realized the full extent of the damage the rupture in Mike's brain had caused, when he'd been lying in his hazy, early post-operative phase, when he couldn't talk except for maybe a few words and disjointed phrases, and they weren't even sure, at first, if he was even understanding what was being said to him, Harvey had been fighting a rising tidal wave of panic which had threatened to engulf him at the thought that he might never be able to make amends for what he'd done.

"Mike, do you remember much of what happened before you got sick?" he'd asked one day, when they they'd been alone together and Mike not long out of critical care. 

Mike had frowned a little and nodded before touching his fingers to his wrapped forehead. "Hurt," he'd said, his words slow, hesitant, his voice thick with medication and sleep. "Bad hurt."

"Yeah," Harvey had said sympathetically. "I know, but before that. Do remember your nosebleed, at the court, and – and me going with you? To the emergency room, I mean?" Harvey had lowered his eyes then, unable to meet Mike's gaze for fear of what he might see there. 

"No," Mike had whispered huskily, after a long pause.

"You - you don't … remember it?"

Looking up, he'd seen that Mike had been struggling. His brows had been knitted together in a frown, his lips working wordlessly as he'd tried to force his mind to form the coherent sentences that had always come so easily before.

With confusion clouding his eyes, Mike had shaken his head. 

Harvey had gulped at that point, his heart thudding. The next question he'd asked had been "So you don't remember leaving the E.R. even though they asked you to stay?" but he'd stopped suddenly, knowing that he'd been breaking so many of Dr. Sonnenfeld's rules right then: _Don't ask him too many questions; try to keep him calm if possible; try not to let him know how worried you are yourself._

Mike had been frowning again, his eyes heavy and confused. "Hurt," he'd said again, lifting his hand to touch his head, and Harvey had grasped his hand, holding it too tightly at first and then stroking it gently, and then he'd been apologizing and smiling and half-sobbing all at once. 

"Just sleep, Mike," he'd said guiltily. "Don't worry about anything. Just sleep, okay? I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

He looks at Donna now and she smiles back at him sympathetically. "You have to let that guilt go some time," she tells him, "or it's going to eat you all up." She glances at her wristwatch then, and with a little cry she notices it's almost a quarter to one in the morning. "Look, I'd better get going," she says as she starts to gather her things, "but just so you know, I told Mike he needs to make more of an effort to see things from your perspective too, and that he's not the only one who's hurting in all this. I'm hoping at least one of you is going to take my advice."

Harvey calls her a cab and then after she's gone, he quickly cleans up in the kitchen, but then as he wanders back towards the couch, Mike stirs, and he looks up at Harvey, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "You're home," he says sleepily. "Where's Donna?"

"It's really late, Mike. She's gone home but she said to thank you for a lovely evening. Hey, you okay? Can I get you anything before we go to bed?"

"I'm, I'm good, thanks," Mike says. He pushes himself up to make room for Harvey who, after a moment's hesitation, sits down heavily beside him.

"You two have fun?" he asks, indicating the popcorn bowl and stack of DVD cases, and Mike nods, and then Harvey is pleasantly surprised when the younger man slides closer to him in order to lean his head against his shoulder.

"What movies did you watch?" he asks as Mike settles against him.

"Uh, we, uh, we took turns," Mike says. "Donna chose 'The Devil Wears Prada' and I – I chose 'Sh – Shawshank'."

"Good choice," Harvey murmurs. He's tempted to quote from the movie, but the only line he can actually think of right now is "Get busy living or get busy dying," and so he decides to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he sits still, enjoying the feeling of the other man's warmth against him through his shirt sleeve, although after a while he starts to think that maybe Mike's fallen back to sleep, so that it's a surprise when he eventually hears him speak again. 

"I, uh, I – I missed you tonight, Harvey," he says quietly.

Tentatively, Harvey raises his arm, grateful when Mike tucks himself beneath it and moves even closer, so that his soft hair tickles the skin on Harvey's neck as he leans against his chest. Carefully, still fearing rejection might come at any moment, Harvey wraps his arms around him. "I missed you too," he breathes. 

It's the closest they've been for days. 

He turns to look at Mike to see that his face is tilted upwards towards him, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted, invitingly so, and Harvey leans down into the kiss, his tongue gently probing Mike's mouth as he savors the popcorn and soda sweetness of soft lips he's missed so much. 

"Mike," he says as they break apart. "About the other day –"

"It's okay," Mike says, interrupting, and he brings his hand across Harvey's lap, lacing his fingers through the older man's in order to hold tightly onto his hand. "Really, Harvey, it – it's … " He stops, his forehead creased in concentration as he struggles with the words. "I get it – " Mike licks his lips. "I – do. I just miss – I miss the way it was, you know, the – the job, and – and me and you. I miss the _old_ me, with you." 

"I know, and I didn't mean to hurt you, Mike," Harvey says earnestly. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. I – I do, Harvey, and I'm sorry too. I am."

"You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Harvey tells him.

They kiss again, a careful, loving kiss, with Harvey gently caressing Mike's face before pulling him back down against his chest. They sit quietly for a while, Harvey listening to the gentle ticking of the clock, while Mike enjoys the steady thump-thump of Harvey's heart beneath his ear.

"Harvey?" he says eventually.

"Yeah?"

"I - I loved it, you know. Working – working with you."

Harvey closes his eyes tightly. "Mike –"

"No, listen to me, Harvey, p – please." Mike is choosing his words slowly and deliberately, as if he's doing his utmost not to stutter, although of course he still does. "I – I know that I was only … only ever a - a fake lawyer before – before all this happened, but – but fake or … not, I – I still would have made a - a _good_ one, right?"

"God, Mike," Harvey breathes. He closes his eyes as he suddenly finds himself swallowing down hard on the huge lump which is now blocking his throat, and for a few moments he simply can't speak. "Listen to me, okay?" he eventually chokes out. "Listen to me and believe what I say. You were always going to be the best Goddamn lawyer this city has ever seen, Mike. Always." And then he pulls Mike even closer, wrapping his arms around him and holding onto him tightly like he'll never let him go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Harvey's relationship goes from strength to strength, although how long can their happiness last before events come back to haunt them?
> 
> Final chapter in the series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter but I hope you'll enjoy it.

"Haven't seen you in here in a long time," the waitress remarks as she takes Harvey's drinks order. "Where's the cute guy you used to come in with? The one with the lovely blue eyes."

It's the restaurant they used to frequent all those months ago – actually, it feels like a lifetime ago to Harvey now he comes to think about it – when they first started meeting each other for dinner after work on Wednesdays before going back to Harvey's condo for sex. Everything had seemed so simple back then, when their biggest fear had been that someone from work might see them out together after hours and put two and two together. That and, of course, whether there'd be enough time in the morning for another quick blow job before they had to set off for work.

"Actually, he should be joining me pretty soon," Harvey says with a smile, and even as he says it, the door opens and Mike comes in off the sidewalk, smoothing his suit coat down as he walks in. He looks around until he spots Harvey and then he begins to thread his way quickly through the closely packed tables towards him. In his suit, the dark blue Zegna one Harvey had surprised him with a few months ago, and with the strap of his messenger bag slung across his chest, he looks so much like the old Mike from _before_ that Harvey feels his heart jolt as it skips a beat.

"How did it go?" he asks, as he stands up to greet him, his eyebrows raised, but Mike's beaming smile gives away the answer before he gets the chance to speak.

"I – I start on the … the first," he says. 

"Aw, that's great," Harvey tells him as he pulls him into a back-slapping hug. "Mike, I'm so proud of you!"

As they take their seats, the waitress, who'd been watching them with a big smile on her face, bustles up towards them. "Job interview?" she asks, and Mike nods up at her happily. "Oh, congratulations," she tells him. "Say, are you gonna be working nearby? Because I was only just saying to your friend here that I missed you both coming in these last few months, so am I going to be seeing more of you both or what?" She waits expectantly but there's a long pause as Mike tries in vain to process his reply. 

Watching him as he struggles to find the right words, Harvey desperately wants to say something on his behalf. He's seen the way some people look at Mike in these situations, as if they think he's retarded or something. One woman, an assistant in a shoe store of all places, had even made the assumption that he was probably both deaf _and_ retarded, and had started speaking really slowly and loudly while she'd mouthed words into his face. Harvey actually finds it harder than Mike does, even when the other person is being sympathetic, and, as usual, he wants to jump in now and come to his rescue. He knows that for someone suffering from aphasia, one of the worst things you can do is overload them with successive questions the way their waitress has just done, but even though he finds it difficult, he forces himself to simply wait. He watches as Mike smiles at her before reaching for his wallet and plucking out a laminated card, and then Harvey finds himself holding his breath, knowing what he's about to do. The waitress bends forward as Mike shows her the card, and Harvey's eyes meet Mike's over her head as they both wait for her to read the words:

I have had a **brain injury.**  
As a result I have **aphasia.**  
I have no problem understanding  
you, but I often find it difficult to **speak,  
** **read** and **write,** especially under pressure.  
 **Please give me time.  
Thank you. **

Harvey also knows, that outside of himself, Donna, and the staff at the rehab center, this is the first 'real' person Mike has shown the card to, and he waits, hoping she doesn't overreact. He needn't have worried though, for she just takes it in her stride. 

"Oh, so I get now why you didn't come in all these months," she says breezily, followed by a genuine smile and a, "Hon, you take all the time you need."

After she's gone to order their drinks, Harvey winks at Mike. 

"So it was that easy, huh?" he asks. "They took one look at your work and offered you the job?"

"Well, uh, yeah," Mike says, nodding. He's again wearing the huge smile he'd come in with, the same smile that practically hadn't left his face since his new employers had offered him the job after only a fifteen minute interview. "Of course, it's – it's, you know, um, it's only … " The word evades him, and he nods at Harvey to show he'll gladly accept his help.

"Part-time?" Harvey offers, and Mike nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Part-time."

In fact, since he'd still be attending classes at his rehabilitation center on a regular basis, Mike would only be working two days a week to begin with, with a view to his hours being extended at a later date, should his medical status allow it. For the last few weeks, as part of his rehab program, he'd been working two mornings a week at a photographic studio downtown, and they'd been so impressed with the quality of his work, they'd recommended him to the manager of one of their affiliated companies when his placement had come to an end. Mike had been thrilled when he'd been called for interview, and had quickly put together an online portfolio of his work.

"They – they said my pictures spoke for themselves," he now says proudly. 

Their waitress, who has just deposited their drinks on the table, engages them in some more friendly chat, and after she heads on to the next table, Harvey flicks his head towards her. 

"She likes you," he says, winking at Mike. "Asked after you, even before you came in. Wanted to know where the cute guy with the nice blue eyes was."

"You're, um … " Mike frowns as he thinks. "Jealous?" he asks, with a mischievous grin.

"Nah," Harvey says firmly, taking Mike's hand in his. "I've got nothing to worry about. You're mine, and I'm gonna prove it to you just as soon as I get you home."

After the meal, they take a taxi home, and as they step into the private elevator, suddenly it's like the old days again, when they were first getting together and getting to know what each other liked, only it's better now, so much better, for both of them, but for Harvey in particular, because he's so sure now of what he wants. No more doubts, no more worrying about whether his feelings are clouding his judgment and getting in the way of work. This, he is sure, is it. It's the real thing.

He's in love.

Harvey's hands are on Mike's sides, pushing his shirt up, jerking it out of his pants so that he can trail his hands over his flesh, and Mike, scrabbling equally hard to dig his fingers under the older man's shirt, accepts Harvey's tongue deep into his mouth, so that by the time they reach the condo, his pants are already undone and hanging open as they stumble inside and crash down together onto the nearest couch.

"Want you – want you to fuck me," Mike says breathlessly, and then he's grinning up at Harvey as they both strip off their shirts and tug off their pants. Soon Harvey's slicked up and pressing himself between Mike's open legs and then he's inside him, thrusting in hard, and Mike groans beneath him, enjoying the friction, clinging fiercely, his legs gripping tight. For once, it's like Harvey doesn't treat him like he's made of glass, and Mike's glad, crying out as he lustfully thrusts his hips up against Harvey's, coming hard and extremely loudly, just before Harvey does.

"Fuck, that was amazing," Harvey moans, panting, chest heaving as he falls down beside him. 

"Let's do it again," Mike says with a sideways glance at Harvey, but Harvey grins as he rolls himself up onto one elbow to look at him.

"Gimme a chance," he says, his breath still coming hard. "I'm not as young as I used to be, you know. Might take me a little bit of time."

"Well, what if …" Mike says as he shimmies himself down against Harvey's body. Harvey groans as Mike pushes his thighs apart and begins to use his tongue. "What if I do … uh, uh, _this_?" and before very long, Harvey is hard again in his mouth.

It's the best night either of them can remember in a long time, and it's like all their worries and insecurities are gone, at least for a while, although a week later, the night before Mike is all ready to start his new job, Harvey fusses over him in a way which reminds Mike very much of his grandmother the night before going back to school, making sure his clothes are prepared and his shoes shined, and Mike ends up having to tell him to calm down.

Deep down, Harvey knows it'll be fine. It's not as if Mike has to work the fifteen hour days he used to put in as an entry level associate at Pearson Hardman, and Mike's contract, such as it is, and which has been studied at length by Harvey himself, is very flexible and pretty much allows him to choose his own hours when he needs to, because despite the fact that Mike seems to be having much more success with his epilepsy medication these days, he still requires variable amounts of recuperation time post-seizure, even if the seizures themselves are relatively few and far between.

And of course, it _is_ fine. Harvey's thrilled with the day-by-day growth in Mike's confidence and finds he loves to hear about the shifts his young lover puts in at the studio, sitting with him in the evenings and poring over online samples of his work on the company's website, and it's so much better now that they can swap stories about work and colleagues. It's like they're on an even keel again, for he knows how much Mike had a tendency to see himself as something of a burden, even though Harvey had vehemently insisted that he wasn't. And when Mike isn't at the studio, he's at the center, working with his speech therapist, or he's using the patients' gym. When they're home together, they cook, watch movies, make love, lie in on Sundays with a stack of newspapers, and, in fact, do all the things that any couple might do together, including inviting friends round for dinner, although when Harvey invites Jessica without consulting Mike first, his decision proves to be somewhat problematic.

"What's wrong?" Harvey asks, frowning. "You don't really mind, do you? It's just that she hasn't seen you in a while and so she wondered – " He stops suddenly, realizing he's doing exactly what other people do and what he knows he shouldn't: bombarding Mike's brain with too many successive questions and pieces of information. "Sorry," he says, not just for the questioning but also for the impromptu invitation. "I know I should have checked with you first."

"It's all right," Mike says, although clearly it isn't, as his bottom lip is sticking out and he's worrying it with his teeth in a way that Harvey often finds irritating and impossibly endearing at the same time. "It's just, well, she – she hates me," Mike continues. "You know she does. She won't want to come. I mean, not with – not with _me_ here."

Harvey exaggerates a pained sigh. Once, perhaps in the old days in the office, he might have scolded Mike at this point and told him he was being childish, if not downright ridiculous, but he's used to being a much more patient man these days. "Mike," he says, tipping his head to one side, a mild frown furrowing his brow. "You know neither of those things is true." 

Mike, however, stubbornly nods his head. "Well, you can't deny she wishes I wasn't – wasn't … around," he insists. "She always did. She – she thinks you’d be better off. You know, with – without me."

"Oh, come on," Harvey exclaims. His tone is a little more exasperated now. "That isn't true either. It's just that Jessica was always in difficult position as far as you were concerned, but that was never her fault. It was mine. I mean, why would you even think she hates you, anyway?" 

Harvey watches him as Mike rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. 

"Well, she's coming," Harvey adds firmly, and neither of them says another word about it until the evening in question arrives. 

"Just be pleasant and polite, like the good boy I know you can be," he'd teased as they'd stood side by side in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and preparing the smoked salmon appetizers, and when Jessica arrives at their apartment, draped in a luxurious faux fur shrug, Harvey shoots Mike a warning look as he takes it from her. 

"So Harvey tells me you have a new job?" she says, smiling over the rim of her wine glass once they are all settled at the table. She cocks her head to one side as her dark eyes rake over him and he shrinks a little from her gaze. She still makes him feel incredibly nervous, even now. "How's that working out for you?"

He feels panicky suddenly, his heart fluttering in his chest, the fear that he won't be able to get his words out actually causing them to freeze in his mouth. "Er … er, yeah, yeah, good," he says after a lengthy pause, nodding. "Thanks."

"Well, I'm very pleased for you," he hears her say. "Are you enjoying it? Better working hours than working for a law firm, I'm sure?" She looks down as she cuts into her salmon and pushes it onto her fork, so she doesn't see the way Mike's face falls, but Harvey does, and suddenly Harvey feels foolish for not taking Mike's fears more seriously when he'd complained about his choice of dinner guest. Oh, of course Mike's insistence that Jessica hated him was churlish and ridiculous, of course it was, but nevertheless, he'd known that Mike had genuinely always been more than a bit nervous and jumpy in her company, and besides, he's disappointed in the way she's speaking to Mike at their table. She certainly could have been a lot more sensitive with her choice of words, especially considering how much Mike had loved working at a law firm, _her_ law firm, and what he'd since lost. 

"I – I – I … " Mike briefly squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to push his words out, before finishing with, "Uh, yeah, but …"

Across the table, Harvey smiles at him sympathetically, although his slightly narrowed eyes betray his annoyance at their guest. "Take your time, Mike," he tells him. There's a heavy silence as Mike fiddles with the stem of his wine glass, his brow creased and his fork temporarily abandoned. No words will come, however, no matter how hard he tries. 

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Jessica says, enunciating her words very slowly and precisely, and though Harvey makes it a habit to try not to speak for Mike on his behalf, for once he cannot help himself.

"Jessica, please don't speak to him that way," he says, much more sharply than he means to, and looking up in surprise she sees his eyes are ablaze with barely controlled anger. "You know," he continues stiffly, "just because he finds it difficult to talk, it doesn't mean he doesn't have something to say."

"No, of course not," Jessica says evenly as she lays down her knife and fork and takes a moment to adjust her napkin on her lap. "I'm sorry, Harvey." She turns then to Mike. "Mike, I'm sorry if I've offended you. That really wasn't my intention."

"It – it's okay," Mike replies, nodding generously. "It – it's not easy, you know, for – for other people. They – they have to get … " He stops, thinking hard. "Accustomed," he says, and Jessica smiles at him. 

"It does seem that way," she tells him sincerely. "And you're being very understanding with me. Thank you."

"You're very – um, welcome," Mike replies with a smile, glad to have found his voice. "You know, people, they think that, uh … " He takes a breath as he thinks. "They think because I – find it hard to – to speak now, that maybe – maybe I'm not as smart as I used to be. I can still understand, I can still think, it's just that I, uh … I find it hard to say what I think."

"It must be very frustrating for you."

"Yeah, it - it can be," Mike says, nodding. "But … I – I'm slowly learning how to deal with it." 

Glancing across at Harvey, Jessica can't help but notice the adoring way in which he's gazing at Mike. Harvey's proud of him, yes, she can definitely see that, but suddenly she can understand so much more.

"I was wrong about you two," she tells him much later, as he helps her on with her shrug when she's leaving. They can hear Mike humming cheerfully in the kitchen as he stacks the dishwasher.

"Oh?" he asks with a pleased smile. "Is this confession time?"

"You're good for him and he's _very_ good for you," she says warmly. "I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him."

"Jealous?" he asks her.

"I might be," she teases back.

Later, in bed, Harvey slides his hand over Mike's thigh, but he stops when Mike pushes it away and turns to face him, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Can I – can I ask you something?" he says. "But I want a – an honest answer, Harvey."

Seeing Mike's expression is serious and perhaps more than a little bit nervous, Harvey frowns worriedly. "What is it?" he asks.

"What I want to know is, do I – I mean, do I … the way I am now, does it ever, you know, like, e - embarrass you?" He has to squeeze his eyes shut as he says the word _embarrass_ , and it's almost like it's being torn from his mouth.

"What? No!" Harvey replies, his frown deepening. "Mike, of course not. That's ridiculous. Why would you even say a thing like that?"

Mike shakes his head, looking down. "Because," he says, "because once, a long time ago, I – I used to – I used to get the feeling that sometimes I made you p-proud."

"God, Mike." Harvey reaches out to him, glad when Mike finally comes fully into his arms, warm and close. "You do make me proud. You make me proud of you every single day, and especially tonight, the way you were with Jessica. I love you so much." He buries his face in Mike's hair, hugging him tightly, and this time, Mike doesn't stop Harvey's hand when it slides lower and starts to caress him. Their love-making begins slowly this time, gently, although it reaches its climax with their bodies thrusting hard, and as Harvey clutches Mike closely to him, he thinks how he probably hasn't ever been so happy in his life.

Of course, he should have realized that something always has to come along and spoil it.

The call comes in just after five on a day when Harvey is still elbow deep in files at the table in his office. He'd already told Mike that he'd need to work late but that he'd be home by around seven, and that he'd pick them both up some take-out on the way home, probably Chinese. He's just opened his twelfth file when his phone starts to buzz insistently in his pocket. He doesn't recognize the number but nevertheless he answers it quickly.

"Harvey Specter."

"Harvey," a frantic voice shouts at him, and without really knowing he's doing it, Harvey steadies himself by placing his other hand palm down flat against the table

"Who is this?" he demands sharply, but even as he says it, he realizes he's already recognized the voice.

Trevor.

"It's Trevor, Trevor Evans," the voice frantically garbles at him, confirming what he already knows. "You know, Mike's friend? Look, it – it's Mike, he's in the emergency room. He – well, he fell and he hit his head, and he's –"

Harvey cuts in, his voice clipped and commanding, although his stomach just dropped and his heart is racing. "Which hospital?"

He listens as Trevor tells him, then he cuts him off as he tries to explain what happened.

"How bad?" 

"What?"

"How bad is he?"

"I don't know," Trevor wails. "They won't tell me anything." 

"Wait there," Harvey instructs, and then before he knows it, he's out on the sidewalk and hailing a taxi.

As it happens, when he strides into the E.R. the first person he sees is Trevor, who when he turns and sees Harvey heading purposefully towards him, jumps to his feet.

"I'm sorry, man," he says, and though obviously frightened of the imposing figure before him, he seems suddenly relieved more than anything, relieved probably to be relinquishing all responsibility for Mike into Harvey's care. Harvey listens, though he's already looking round for someone in authority, but trying to suppress his panic is making it seem like everyone else is moving and talking in slow motion around him. He picks out a few key words from Trevor's babble: _bar, table, blood,_ but from what he can gather, it seems Mike suffered a seizure but then hit his head on the edge of a table on his way down to the floor. "I'll get out of your way," Trevor says, holding up his hands, "but I'm sorry, okay? I'm leaving town tonight and I just wanted to say goodbye to him, but I'm really sorry. Tell him I said so." He makes a run for the door then, throwing a frantic look over his shoulder, as if he's afraid that Harvey might chase him and try to hit him or at least yell at him, but Harvey doesn't even bother to stop him. Instead, he approaches the desk. 

"Harvey Specter here to see Mike Ross," he says, and when he's eventually taken to a curtained bay and finally sees Mike, it's like the absolute worst kind of déjà vu ever, as he's instantly flung hard back to _that day_ , the day of Mike's massive nosebleed at the courthouse, the day Mike had been rushed to the emergency room, the day he'd begged for Harvey to trust him and to stay with him, crying out his name as he'd walked away, the last day, in fact, before … well, just _before …_

"He probably won't wake up for a while," the nurse informs him, "but you can wait in the relatives room if you like. I'll get the doctor to come and speak to you, though you might have a bit of a wait. We're very busy tonight." 

"I'm – " He stops, feeling a sudden need to clear his throat. "I'm his partner," he continues. "I'd rather stay here. That's okay, right?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nods.

"If you could just update me –" he starts to say.

"I'll get the doctor to come," she says firmly as she swishes the partition aside and leaves.

As he waits beside Mike in the curtained bay, Harvey's sensation of déjà vu persists horribly, for the scene is all too devastatingly familiar. He stands at the bedside staring at Mike, who is propped up by pillows, his eyes closed, and the shoulder of his pale blue work shirt all stained with blood. There's a large, clumsy white dressing taped across his forehead, but whether he's unconscious, asleep, or just resting his eyes, Harvey has no idea. 

"Mike?" he questions softly, although when there's no response he settles himself down in the chair.

He can hear sounds all around him beyond the curtained walls, the babble of voices, someone yelling, and as he eyes Mike fearfully, he can hear himself moan. _Please, God, no, not again,_ he cries, although his lips don't move and it's a moment or two before he realizes that the words he's been speaking were actually inside his head instead of out loud. 

Eventually the doctor arrives, a woman in her thirties with dark curly hair scraped back into a tight pony tail, and he stands up as she rubs her hands with antibacterial gel before picking up Mike's notes from the rack at the end of the gurney. 

"Hi," she says, nodding at him. "You are?"

"Harvey Specter," he says. "I'm Mike's partner."

"Ah, okay," she says smiling. "I thought maybe you were an ambulance chaser when I saw the suit. You look like a lawyer."

Harvey doesn't smile, although he recognizes, and maybe even appreciates, her attempt to ease the situation. Right now though, he only has one thing on his mind.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"The signs are good," she says, nodding. "Although he did hit his head pretty hard at some point during his seizure, the scan we did on his admittance to the E.R. reveals no sign of any intracranial bleeding. His pupils are reactive and all his other vital signs are stable, so I'm thinking he's probably suffering from post-seizure fatigue rather than concussion, but we won't know for sure until he wakes up. What are his usual post-seizure symptoms?"

"He usually sleeps for about four or five hours after a full-blown seizure," Harvey confirms. 

The doctor adds a note to the file, her pen scratching quickly over the page. She shakes Mike's shoulder. "Michael," she says loudly "Michael, it's Dr. Garcia. You going to wake up for me now?" However, Mike just groans and averts his face as he shakes her off.

"Lemme s - sleep," he grumbles, burying his face in the hospital blanket against the bright lights.

"Does this seem like normal post-seizure behavior for him?" the doctor enquires as she turns back to Harvey.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harvey confirms. He watches anxiously as she takes her penlight, and despite Mike's mumbled protests, she peels back each of his eyelids in turn, sweeping the light back and forth each time and making him flinch and moan.

"His pupils are still reacting perfectly normally," she explains to Harvey. "However," she adds, replacing Mike's notes in the rack at the foot of the gurney. "I'm sure you can appreciate that while the head lac. itself would be nothing much to worry about in anyone else, given Mr. Ross's recent medical history, we're going to go ahead and contact his care team over at the neuro center at Mount Sinai. In the meantime, try not to worry too much. Scalp wounds always tend to bleed a lot, so it probably looks a lot worse than it is."

It's over an hour later when Mike finally opens his eyes. 

"Hey, better not touch that," Harvey says, as Mike lifts a hand to probe the dressing on his forehead, and he tilts his face towards the sound, doing his best to focus his eyes but all he really sees are the over-bright lights and the fuzziness of the pale blue walls. His eyes drift shut, his eyelids fluttering, and when he opens them again, the first thing he sees is Harvey's worried face.

"Harvey?"

"Hey, Mike," Harvey says, his voice tender and low. "You know where you are?"

Mike's eyes flick around him. "H – hospital?"

"Yeah. You remember what happened?"

Mike squints at him, then shakes his head. "Uh, my head," he complains. "It – it hurts."

"Well, I should think it will do," Harvey replies. "Apparently you whacked it pretty hard on the edge of a table in that bar you were in. At least Trevor had the good sense to call an ambulance straight away."

At that, Mike's eyes instantly go wide. "Oh, uh, uh, Trevor," he gasps, trying to push himself up. "Harvey, Harvey, I – I wasn't," he stutters, shaking his head. "You know, I – I wasn't, I – I – "

"Hey, hey, Mike," Harvey interrupts him, pushing him gently back against the pillows. "Calm down, okay?"

"But – but, Harvey, please, listen to me. I – I wasn't, I wasn't drinking, I – I swear. I - "

"Mike –"

"No! No, Trevor, he – he was, but not me. Harvey, please, you have to believe me. Ask him, ask Trevor."

"Trevor's gone," Harvey retorts, a little more harshly than he means to. "He ran out of here the moment I arrived like his ass was on fire, but he did ask me to tell you he had to go and that he was sorry. Sorry he wasn't more use, I guess."

Mike heaves out a breath. "Well, well, okay then," he says, "but … but, you do b – believe me, right? Harvey? Right?" He clutches tightly at Harvey's hand, squeezing his fingers anxiously.

"Yes, yes of course I do," Harvey assures him, squeezing back. "Mike, please, just calm down, okay? Look, I know you weren't drinking. You had a seizure and you hit your head as you went down, but you're gonna be fine. Now please, just lay back and rest."

Mike heaves a very visible sigh of relief and settles back against the pillows, although he keeps a tight hold of Harvey's hand, only letting go when another E.R. doctor, a very serious young man whose scrubs look at least two sizes too big for him, arrives and proceeds to put Mike through a number of tests, checking his grip and reflexes, as well as asking him various questions, starting with his full name and date of birth.

"His speech is always like that," Harvey says, watching the doctor making notes when Mike struggles to get his answers out. "He has –" 

"Aphasia, as a result of an intracranial bleed caused by a ruptured AVM," the doctor interrupts without taking his eyes off Mike. "I do know. Sir, would you mind very much keeping quiet for a couple of minutes? Otherwise I'm going to have to ask you to leave." 

Harvey's face tightens at the thinly-veiled rebuke, although he takes a step or two backwards and remains silent for the remainder of the examination. 

"You're … " Mike swallows hard. "Angry," he says, after a pause when the young doctor has gone and it's just the two of them again.

"What? With that guy? Okay, so he was a pain in the ass, but I guess he was just doing his job."

"No," Mike says. "You're angry … with me."

"No, I'm not," Harvey says, shaking his head. 

"Dis – a – a, dis- appointed then. Because … because I was with – with Trevor. He – he's going back to Montana. He just wanted to – to say goodbye."

Harvey sighs. "Mike, all I care about is whether you're going to be okay," he says, "and I swear that's the truth. Look, you look like you can hardly keep your eyes open. Why don't you try and get some more rest?"

"Will you – will you still be here if I fall asleep?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Mike."

After a while, Mike closes his eyes, his fingers once more circled around Harvey's. With his free hand, he pulls the hospital blanket once more up to his chin. He seems to fall asleep almost at once, and after a while, Harvey, feeling his own head start to nod, carefully extricates his hand from Mike's grip before quietly slipping out of the bay in pursuit of coffee. 

Out in the hallway, he spies a vending machine but as he approaches, he sees a handwritten 'Out of Order' sign taped to its glass front, so he ventures a little further afield. He can only have been gone a matter of minutes though, but as he walks back along the brightly lit hallway, his prize in his hand, he hears a loud disturbance coming from the emergency room, someone shouting and sobbing, and suddenly realizing it's Mike he can hear, he breaks into a run, practically skidding to halt at the foot of Mike's gurney, barely even flinching when the hot coffee he's carrying splashes out onto his wrist.

"Please sir, please calm down!" a nurse is shouting at Mike above the noise, but when he sees Harvey he breaks into fresh sobs, his face crumpled, his fingers reaching out to him. 

"Mike, Mike," Harvey cries. "What is it?" He dumps the coffee on the nearest cabinet, and then Mike's hurling himself into his arms and clinging tightly to him, his whole body trembling. Harvey holds him close, his fingers pushing into the hair at his nape. "Hey, hey, you're okay," he soothes, stroking his back. "Mike, it's okay, I've got you." 

Eventually, Mike quietens, and Harvey nods to the nurse that it's okay, she can go. When he's sure that Mike's calm enough, he gently disengages himself from his grip and reaches for the box of Kleenex next to his rapidly-cooling coffee. He passes it to Mike, who then grasps a handful of tissues, using them to wipe his face and eyes before noisily blowing his nose.

"Do you mind telling me what the hell that was all about?" Harvey asks eventually. His voice is soft, although for some reason he can't fathom, Mike is looking fearfully up into his eyes. "Mike?" he prompts gently.

"I - I thought … " Mike stutters, struggling to get a hold of his words, although as Harvey well knows, his stammer is always more pronounced whenever he's tired or upset. "When - when you weren't here, I – I thought … I thought that - that you'd gone," he says, his chest heaving with the memory of his fear as well as the effort in getting his words out. "That it was gonna be like, uh … " His breath hitches. "Like – uh - like … that other time."

To Harvey, these words are like a slap in the face and for a few seconds, all he can do is just sit there, reeling. 

"What?" he says at last, with a little shake of his head as if he doesn't understand, when all the time inside his mind, he's screaming.

Mike swallows hard and looks down at the soggy ball of Kleenex in his hands. "I – I thought that you'd left me," he whispers. "Again." 

Harvey, rarely lost for words as the king of the court and the boardroom wrangle, now struggles to form a coherent sentence of his own. "You – you remember that," he asks at last.

His face now streaked with fresh tears, Mike shakes his head. "I – I don't," he says. "Not – not really. Just – just … " He gestures to his forehead, wanting to tell Harvey that there are only vague pictures in his mind, hazy, hurtful memories of that day, of Harvey, angry, so very angry, shouting, accusing, and spitting out his words. He vaguely remembers there were other people there too, a man – a doctor? – shouting at Harvey, and then he remembers crying out, begging Harvey to stay, and then Harvey just … just … _walking away._

Harvey, for his part, feels sick to his stomach, as the guilt he's fought so hard to suppress rises within him like bile. He feels weak, as if all the power and strength he's built up through carrying Mike all these months, in fact carrying them both, has just ebbed away in a devastating floodtide. 

"I'm so sorry, Mike," he chokes out. "I – I - it's all my fault, all of it." He covers his face, slumping suddenly sideways, a muffled "Oh, God," groaning past his hands. "Mike," he begs, though his face is still buried, "please, _please,_ forgive me."

"Oh, oh, don't, Harvey," Mike cries as he reaches trembling fingers towards him. "P – p - please d - don't. It's – it's not your fault, it's not. There's – there's nothing to forgive. Don't cry, Harvey – please."

But Harvey's shoulders are shaking now as his body curls in on itself in its anguish, and even though Mike throws his arms around him and tries to hug him close, he's the one who has the hard job of trying to provide what little comfort he can for a change.

When he eventually sits up, Harvey's usually even complexion is blotchy, his face streaked with tears and his eyes are red-rimmed. Fearful and repentant, Mike hands him back the box of Kleenex.

"I was so angry that day," Harvey says, his voice wavering and insubstantial - nothing like his usual voice at all. "So ridiculously angry that you hadn't made court, angry that I thought you'd taken drugs and wouldn't admit it. I felt so let down, but, God, let's face it here … I was the one who let _you_ down. I am so, so sorry, Mike, so very sorry. If I hadn't lost my temper, if you'd stayed and had those tests –"

"Harvey, - "

"No, Mike, please, let me finish. You see, I was being such a blind idiot back then, denying my love for you, not just to myself but to you, to everybody, but it's not what some people have been saying." Harvey's emotions, so long suppressed, are pouring out now and he wants Mike to know, to really know, what he feels. "I'm with you because I love you," he tells him earnestly, "because I'm _in_ love with you. Christ, you know I fell in love with you a long time ago, don't you? Long before you ever got sick? I mean, you know that, right?"

There's a moment's hesitation before Mike nods, and the lawyer in Harvey pounces on it immediately.

"You don't believe me," he says, "but it's the truth, Mike, I swear."

"I do," Mike says then, and then more firmly, "Harvey, I – do believe you. It's just that someone, someone once told me that you – you … " He can't think of the words though, and he licks his lips, shaking his head. "It's just that she – she … " he says, trying again. "She said … " Again he shakes his head, but in a few seconds, the significance of Mike's words begins to sink in.

"She?" Harvey questions. "Who's she, Mike? Donna?" But even as Mike's shaking his head, the answer comes to him. "Jessica," he says, but it's a statement now instead of a question.

Mike nods miserably, the memory of the virtually one-way conversation he'd had with Jessica a few weeks after his seizure on her office floor, now causing the anxiety to flutter in his chest. _"Harvey's an important man," she'd told him amongst other things. "A busy man. Donna told me that he walked away from you once before. Don't be surprised if one day, for his own sake, he needs to do it again."_

"Let me guess," Harvey says now, his jaw working as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. "She told you I was only staying with you out of guilt? That if you really loved me, you should let me go?"

His eyes wide now, Mike again nods his head. "But – how … how …" he stutters.

"How do I know? Because she pretty much said the same things to me." Harvey suddenly clutches Mike's hand in his, his brown eyes dark and serious. "It's bullshit, Mike," he says fiercely. "You know that, right?"

Mike nods, much more firmly this time. He can see it Harvey's eyes, and he can feel it in the way Harvey now pulls him to his chest and holds him tightly in his arms.

"No wonder you thought I was gone," he murmurs, pressing gentle kisses against Mike's hair while being careful to avoid the dressing on his forehead. "But what happened before, that's never gonna happen again, baby, okay? I swear."

And Mike, closing his eyes against the familiar smell of Harvey's shirt, knows it's the truth.

It's just before eleven when the orderlies arrive to take Mike down to the waiting ambulance for his transfer to the neuro unit.

"Sorry about the delay," Dr. Garcia tells them apologetically. She notices that the older man is still clutching her patient's hand and is showing no signs of letting go, even as Mike clambers off the gurney and into the waiting wheelchair. "Mr. Specter," she says, smiling sympathetically, for she can see at a glance how close the two men are and how committed they are to each other, "there's really no point you following him all the way down there. You might as well go home and get some rest yourself and see him tomorrow. Dr. Sonnenfeld said she'd phone you after she's examined Michael tomorrow."

Mike, still worrying about the effects of the night's events on Harvey, nods his agreement. "I'll be fine," he says. "Really." Nevertheless, Harvey walks down to the ambulance bay with them, still holding onto his partner's hand.

"I'll bring you some stuff tomorrow," he says, shivering himself as he tucks the blanket more firmly around Mike's shoulders. "Some clothes and personal stuff," and then he stands smiling and waving encouragingly at him until the very moment the ambulance doors slam shut.

When Harvey eventually reaches home, he throws off his clothes and stumbles straight into bed. Although he's totally exhausted, the bed just feels too wide and cold without Mike to share it with him, and for some strange reason it's this, above all else, which proves to Harvey just how much he's changed. A year ago, hell, even six months ago, he'd happily have shared his bed with Mike for sex, and maybe even for the post-sex fooling around too, but he'd always enjoyed stretching out in his bed alone. Now he's used to Mike cuddling up to him, and he enjoys the feeling he gets from wrapping a protective arm around him and feeling the comforting weight of his head as it leans heavily against his chest. A song lyric floats into his mind: _the bed's too big without you,_ and although he's always hated corny love songs, he has to admit that this one fits perfectly. 

Eventually, after much tossing and turning, he falls asleep.

In the morning, he scalds his mouth in his haste to drink the too-hot coffee, and it isn't very long before he showers, changes into jeans and a shirt and packs a bag for Mike before heading out to the hospital. Part way there, however, he asks the cab driver to take a detour and before long he's striding into Jessica's office. She looks up and smiles when she sees him, but the smile quickly falls from her lips when she sees his informal attire, not to mention the glare in his eyes and the thin angry line of his lips. Donna, having sensed the danger of his mood the minute she'd seen him stalk past her desk without a word, arrives breathlessly in the doorway a few seconds later.

"You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do," Harvey snaps, fiercely jabbing a finger in Jessica's direction. 

"Harvey, what are you talking about?" Jessica asks him. She's standing now, drawing herself up to her full height, her hands clasped in front of her. 

"I'm talking about how you can sit in our home, and smile, and eat the food I cooked for you, and all the time you've just been trying to stab me in the goddamned back."

"Harvey," she replies calmly, although there's a slight tremble at the corner of her lips which belies her cool exterior. "I really don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" he flares, his tone harsh and sarcastic. "Oh, well let's see then, shall we? So how about we start with you going to Mike behind my back and trying to get him to leave me? Or what about how you also told him that if he really loved me he would let me go? I wonder if it was the same woman who tried to give his memory a nice big jog, just to make sure that he'd think if I was capable of walking out on him once, then I'd surely be up for doing it all over again."

At this, Jessica purses her lips. "He told you," she says quietly.

"Yes, you're damn right he told me. Right after he thought I'd abandoned him at the hospital last night when all I did was step outside for a few minutes to go get a goddamn coffee."

"Mike's in the hospital?" This time it's Donna, and having almost forgotten she was there, Harvey wheels round to look at her. "Harvey, is he gonna be okay?" she asks, her eyes wide with concern. Harvey, however, is in no mood to entertain her.

"This is your fault as much as it's hers," he snaps bitterly. "You told her about what happened that day in the E.R. and how much I blamed myself. In other words, you gave her the ammunition."

"And I also told you to stop blaming yourself and that it wasn't your fault," she reminds him as she throws an accusing glare at Jessica. "And the reason I told _her_ was because I thought she'd use that information to help you, not hurt you."

"Excuse me, but I am still here in the room," Jessica coldly reminds them both. "And actually, I did use that information to try to help you, Harvey, but as I told you the other evening, I now know I was completely wrong about you and Mike. I went about things in completely the wrong way and I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, even if you thought you were acting in my best interests," Harvey explodes, "you had no right going to him behind my back."

"I was trying to protect you," Jessica insists as she comes out towards him from behind her desk. "You were totally neglecting your work, not to mention yourself. Goddamn it, man, you were practically throwing your career away."

"My _career_?" Harvey sneers, his lip curling as he backs away from her. "Like I give a flying fuck about my career! Compared to my life with Mike, my career means nothing, absolutely nothing. In fact, I'll show you how little it means." His face is twisted in contempt now, as he spits the words at her, "I resign." And with that he turns and storms out of the room, leaving the two women to stare helplessly at one another.

"He doesn't mean it," Jessica eventually says.

"Oh, I somehow think he does," is Donna's worried reply.

When he arrives at the Mount Sinai neurology department, Harvey's directed to a second floor room, where he's glad to find Mike's fully awake and sitting up in bed. He still looks pale and there's some purple bruising visible around the edges of the smaller, neater dressing which has now been taped to his forehead, but his face lights up when he sees Harvey. Their prolonged embrace is warm, and heartfelt, and erases so much of the pain of the previous night that each man finds it difficult to know when to let go.

"You're not - not going into w - work?" Mike asks him, nodding at his casual clothes when they eventually part and Harvey pulls up a chair to the bedside, but Harvey shakes his head dismissively. 

"No, I'd rather spend time with you," he says. "So what's been happening? Did you manage to get much sleep?"

"Some," Mike says. "Dr. Sonnenfeld, she, um, she came and took me for the – for some scans first thing. She says if – if they're okay I might be able to go home later." He stops suddenly and bites down on his lip somewhat nervously. "Harvey?" he asks after a moment or two. "Are you – are you okay?"

Harvey, thinking that maybe the strain of his altercation with Jessica must be showing on his face, takes a breath and tries to relax. "I'm just a bit tired after everything last night," he says. "I bet you are too."

"Yeah," Mike agrees, still worrying nervously at his bottom lip. "But - but we're still okay though, right? Y - you and me?"

Harvey's smile and firm reply of, "Absolutely," is honest and heartfelt, and Mike visibly relaxes, and Harvey's glad, because despite what's happened this morning in Jessica's office, he's feeling better than he has in a long time. It feels like a lot of air has been cleared, and he realizes just how heavily the thick fog of guilt had been hanging over him. Now, just like after a storm, everything seems clean and new. 

"About Trevor," Mike says, somewhat sheepishly. "You know, I didn't, well I wasn't, uh … " He stops, unsure of how to make his thoughts and feelings understood. He needn't have worried though.

"Look, Mike," Harvey says, reaching for Mike's hand, and Mike offers it gladly. "You know you have every right to see anybody you want. I was mad last time about the drinking – "

"I – I wasn't drinking," Mike insists. "Not this time." 

"I know, Mike," Harvey replies, his thumb smoothing gently back and forth over Mike's fingers. "It's fine. I guess he got a lot more than he bargained for, right?"

He grins mischievously and Mike grins right back.

"Shoulda seen him running away from me when I got to the E.R.," Harvey says. "Seems like he was about to shit his pants, he was so afraid."

Mike starts to laugh and then Harvey is laughing too, glad to see a little bit of the color returning to Mike's cheeks. They're interrupted by a knock on the door, and they both turn to see Dr. Sonnenfeld, the kindly gray-haired surgeon who had operated so expertly on Mike, entering the room.

"Good morning again, Mike, and good morning to you Harvey," she says. "I won't say it's nice to see you again under the circumstances, even though it is." She smiles as she offers Harvey her hand and he grasps it warmly. 

"How's he doing, doc?" he asks.

"Well," she says, "I've had a good look at the scans they sent over from the E.R. last night." She turns to Mike. "And first I want to assure you that, thankfully, you don't seem to have done any real damage, at least not to the inside of your head, anyway."

It's Harvey who reacts first. "Well, that's a relief," he says. "Right, Mike?" 

Mike nods, smiling. He knows from experience, however, how thorough Dr. Sonnenfeld likes to be, and so he isn't surprised when she announces she wants him to stay in the unit, at least for the next few hours, and definitely until after she's had a chance to fully study the new scans he's been subjected to this morning. "It's purely to be on the safe side though, okay?" she tells him. 

"Okay," he says, nodding and smiling. "Th – thank you."

As soon as she's gone, Harvey bends down and very gently kisses Mike on the forehead close to his dressing before kissing him again more firmly on the lips. "I want you get some rest, okay?" he says. "I'll be back soon though. Hopefully to take you home."

"You going into work dressed like - like that after all?" Mike asks with a smile, indicating Harvey's casual outfit of jeans and button-down shirt.

"No," Harvey says. "I'm going to go home for a bit. There's some paperwork I need to do there."

To his delight, though, when he returns later that afternoon, Mike is already up and dressed in the clothes he'd picked out and packed for him, and is sitting waiting for him in the chair at the side of his bed. 

"All my scans checked out," he tells him. "I'm good to go."

At home, Harvey's fusses around his invalid for a while as he makes sure that Mike has everything he needs, and then finally, with the lights dimmed and the TV off, they curl up together on the couch, with Mike resting comfortably back against Harvey's broad chest, enjoying the warmth and security of the older man's arms around him. 

"Glad to be home?" Harvey asks him.

"Mmm," Mike murmurs. 

They lie quietly for a while, and then just when Harvey is about to investigate whether or not Mike has fallen asleep, he hears his voice, quiet and soft.

"Harvey, please w - will you tell me about – about that day?"

Harvey closes his eyes. It's the moment he's been dreading. "Mike," he says. "I don't know … "

"Please," Mike begs. "Please just – just tell me."

Harvey opens his eyes again, although the silence grows heavier by the second.

"Harvey?"

Harvey clears his throat, the noise sounding something like a cross between a cough and a sob. "What do you want to know," he asks eventually.

"All of it," Mike says.

Harvey sighs, not sure where to begin. He adjusts their position, pushing himself up slightly, so that Mike is wedged more firmly between his thighs and ends up nestling even more closely against his chest. After licking his lips he says, "That day, do you remember being late for court?" 

"I – I think so," Mike replies. "I had a – a nosebleed and you … you were angry with me."

"Yeah." Harvey sighs again, and then quietly, his voice rumbling in his chest behind Mike's ears, he begins to speak. "You were late, and so I didn't have the information I needed, and the judge practically threw me out of court … " 

Mike listens carefully, and every now and then, he chips in with some half-remembered detail but mostly he just lies back in Harvey's arms, pressing himself closer whenever Harvey falters as the tale grows increasingly painful for him to tell. When he gets to the part about how Mike had discharged himself and had then gone on to collapse in the office, his voice is rough and verging on tearful, and it's at this point that Mike sits up and turns to face him. "You still think that _this_ – ," he says, pointing towards his head," _this_ is all y – your fault? The - the … " He falters as the words evade him and he frowns.

"AVM?" Harvey supplies cautiously. 

"Yes," Mike says. He touches his forehead, his mouth. "All of _this_. It's _not_ your fault, Harvey. Really, it – it's not."

"But, Mike," Harvey protests. "If you'd just gotten those tests … then maybe … God, Mike, you know, I – I'll _hate_ myself until my dying day for walking out on you like that, I swear."

"But Harvey," Mike says, shaking his head. "Maybe – maybe I could have stayed and g - got those tests. But then - then it might just have all happened anyway. And – and anyhow, I could have, I could have gone to - to the doctor's office w –way before that, when you wanted me to. I - I could have told you how scared I was to go, but I - I didn't, did I? I just lied to you like -like everything was okay, so – so I don't blame you, Harvey and I don't want, I mean, uh, I don't want you to blame yourself. It – it happened. We're still together. Let's move on."

It's not just the longest speech Mike has delivered since his brain injury, but it's also the most fluent and it absolutely moves Harvey to tears.

"God, I love you, Mike," he murmurs as he clutches him once more to his chest. "I love you so, so much. You know, when you were in the hospital all those weeks, I felt so helpless. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I even tried to talk to you about it this one time, but you didn't remember, and I kept thinking what can I do? What can I do to make it right? But then I realized there was nothing I _could_ do, nothing except just keep on loving you and hoping that that would be enough."

"And it is," Mike replies simply. "Totally. And I – I love you too, Harvey. So very, very, _very_ much."

They're quiet for a while, each man enjoying the close touch of the other, and for the first time in a long while, Harvey feels totally at peace. 

Well, not totally. There's still something else he has to tell Mike and when he does so, Mike stares at him in disbelief, his lips at first twitching into a half-smile, as if he thinks Harvey is joking, though he knows him well enough by now to know when he's telling the truth, and gradually Mike's face starts to fall.

"Wh – what?" he stammers. "Harvey, you – you did what?"

"I just told you," Harvey says. "I quit. I'm no longer a senior partner at Pearson Hardman."

"But – but why?"

Harvey sighs. "I know I let you down," he says, shaking his head when Mike tries to interrupt him, "but Jessica, well, she let me down too. I can't work with someone who sneaks around behind my back like that. I mean, for God's sake, Mike, she tried her best shot at breaking us up."

"It - it didn't – didn't work though," Mike says, frowning, "and – and anyway, I think she changed her mind."

After a moment, Harvey acknowledges this, nodding his head in agreement. "Yeah," he says. "She has. But I still don't think I can forgive her."

There's a silence for a while. Mike sits cross-legged on the couch now, his chin in his hands, and Harvey watches him, scratching absent-mindedly at the uncharacteristic stubble on his own chin with his thumbnail.

"What are you thinking?" he asks eventually.

Mike looks up and gives Harvey a lop-sided smile as he rolls his eyes a little, a look which Harvey totally understands. _I know what I want to say,_ the look says, _but I don't know how to start to say it._

"It's okay," he reassures him. "Just take your time. There's no hurry."

Not wanting to pressure Mike, which he knows can make things worse, Harvey crosses to the kitchen to make some coffee. When he returns with two steaming mugs, he places them on the table then sits down again beside Mike.

"Okay," Mike begins, and Harvey smiles at him encouragingly. "So, so, I - I want you to promise me, um, three things." 

"Oh?" Harvey replies. "And what might they be?"

"Well, um, first, I – I want you to promise me that you'll s - stop feeling s -so bad about - about what happened with - with you and me."

At this, Harvey shakes his head a little. "Well, I can promise to try," he says. "Is that good enough?" 

Mike smiles and nods and Harvey's face also breaks into a smile in return. "And the second thing?" he prompts.

"Harvey, you … you can't resign."

The smile falls this time and Harvey shakes his head. "It's too late, Mike," he says. "I already did." 

Mike frowns and points to the creamy envelope sitting propped up against bureau opposite them.

"Yeah, I know I haven't handed in my official letter of resignation yet," Harvey says, as he follows Mike's finger, "but I'm gonna put it on Jessica's desk myself, first thing tomorrow morning."

"So … "

Harvey looks puzzled. "So?"

"So - so ... rip it up," Mike says, spreading his hands expansively with a grin. "Duh!"

Again, Harvey shakes his head, although this time, desperately trying to resist Mike's goofy smile. "Mike, you're not getting it," he replies. "I can't work for Jessica any more, not now. She doesn't get me. She did once, but I've changed. I don't care about my career. I care about you." 

Mike takes a deep breath. "But If you – if you care about me, you won't give me that, I mean, uh, I – I don't want that – I … " Mike closes his eyes tightly as he presses his fingers to his forehead. "Guilt," he says, the word seeming to burst triumphantly out, and then he says more firmly, "I don't want that guilt."

Appalled, Harvey shakes his head. "God, Mike, no," he says. "I don't want you to feel guilty either. You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty for."

"But I will," Mike insists. "I will if you … if you do this … because - because I know how much you love your job, Harvey. And - and you can forgive Jessica, you - you know you can. Give me that letter."

Sighing deeply, Harvey crosses to the bureau and hands over the letter, and then he sits back down and watches as Mike first tears it in half and then in half again, and then finally into smaller pieces which he throws up in the air, the fragments fluttering all around them before falling like confetti.

"So what's the third thing?" Harvey asks. "You said there were three."

Mike brushes away one of the torn fragments of the letter from Harvey's shoulder as he leans in towards him.

"Just please keep on loving me," he murmurs softly as his hands go around Harvey's neck.

"Deal," Harvey says, nodding as he grins happily and leans in towards the kiss.


End file.
